When it comes to the medical marijuana era—including understanding compassionate care programs—it pays to know a bit of history.
Far from being a mere historical footnote in the long march towards legalization, the advent of state-sanctioned medical cannabis markets represented a game-changing victory on multiple fronts. From a policy perspective, the success of California’s Prop 215 in 1996 set in motion a domino effect that inspired numerous other states to follow suit by subsequently enacting medical marijuana laws of their own.
What these laws accomplished was nothing short of radical: They allowed those suffering from a variety of medical ailments to purchase, consume and benefit from cannabis without fear of legal repercussion. But it didn’t go off quite so cleanly. Many licensed operations endured frequent, aggressive raids from federal authorities. Despite such challenges, some craft cannabis cultivators in California’s Emerald Triangle still pine for the medical-only days.
It makes sense. As a far looser market, requirements for testing, taxes, packaging and licensing all still existed but were notably less stringent than they’d ultimately become following California’s move to legalize recreational cannabis sales in 2018.
Another reason for these laments stems from the highly lucrative, rapidly growing cannabis industry, with its focus clearly shifting from medicine to money. Case in point: It took a monumental effort from advocates to fix a loophole in Prop 64 (California’s adult-use bill) that essentially killed the state’s landmark compassionate care program. To understand what happened, one needs to look at how these programs work and who they were originally designed to help.
Free Weed
The underlying concept behind compassionate care programs is that those in need should always have access to safe, quality medicine—regardless of whether they can afford it. At the onset, this group was largely composed of those living with HIV/AIDS, and cannabis had been deemed a potentially effective treatment for related symptoms, such as nausea, loss of appetite, pain relief and depression. With some hope in sight,
brave individuals, including Prop 215 co-author Dennis Peron and the legendary “Brownie” Mary Rathbun, risked prison time to ensure patients hospitalized in San Francisco-area hospital AIDS wards could access cannabis.
When Prop 215 became law in 1996, it established the basic tenets for how cannabis compassionate care programs should operate. It’s a blueprint that basically continues to this day: Cultivators donate flower to licensed dispensaries, which in turn offer it to qualified patients at discounted rates, or for no charge at all. One of the reasons these programs worked was because, as a charitable enterprise, donations of cannabis weren’t subject to tax fees. Unfortunately, as mentioned above, this became a big problem after California enacted Prop 64 in 2016.
The issue became that in addition to requiring licensed growers to pay high taxes on cannabis cultivated for sale, Prop 64 failed to exempt flower grown for compassionate care from taxation. Normally happy to donate, cultivators understandably balked at being asked to pay for giving away free product. Thankfully, the issue was resolved in 2020 when Gov. Gavin Newsom signed the Dennis Peron and Brownie Mary Act, once again making it possible for operators to distribute medical cannabis without the brutal taxes.
But as more and more states opt to evolve their industries from medical-only to a hybrid of adult-use and medical sales, are all patients being given the care and attention they deserve?
Making Room for Medicine
Barring federal policy reform and the establishment of a new nationwide set of standards, to gain the most accurate picture, one must approach this issue on a state-by-state level. As things stand today, there are now medical-only states, states with laws supporting both medical and recreational markets, and states where all products with more than a trace of THC continue to be fully prohibited.
Fortunately, a combination of thoughtful policymakers, seasoned advocates and generous cannabis companies are working to ensure patients continue to be an overall priority in the industry. In Oregon, for example, many dispensaries are dual-licensed—a quirk of the state’s legislation, but also a testament to the stores’ own values and desire to take care of their medical customers.
(To clarify, being a medical patient doesn’t automatically make someone a compassionate care patient, though there’s certainly overlap between these groups.)
How compassionate care programs will figure into federal legalization policy when such a day eventually arrives will be a matter of which bill gets the favor of Congress. If those in charge do attempt to forget the rights of individuals needing access to free or discounted cannabis, one can expect cannabis advocates to fight for patient rights, as they have since the days of Prop 215.
Cannabis and Proposition 215—the Compassionate Use Act of 1996—are intimately intertwined with the LGBTQ+ community. The reward was born from the guts of the AIDS epidemic of the 1980s and ’90s, a public health crisis in full view of an indifferent government. The moment compelled action. Amidst illness, the community found health. Amidst division, it found unity with voters at the ballot. Prop 215 protects a series of rights to possess, use, obtain and cultivate marijuana for medical purposes with a doctor’s approval, with transportation—the 5th right—added on appeal in 1997.
Let’s take it back to where it all started.
Beginnings in the Castro: A Taste of Freedom
Dennis Peron, a gay hippy, returned to the US from Vietnam with two pounds of weed in his duffel bag. With such precious cargo, he established his home in San Francisco’s fabled Castro Street as a “Grand Central Station” gathering place for quality cannabis and mind-expanding psychedelics—magic mushrooms and LSD—which were presumed safe and lean after thousands of uses. Locally grown cannabis was the standard. An aura of Mother Nature permeated the space, plants hanging from ceilings and walls, showcasing a healthy herbal way of life.
This grew into Island Restaurant in the Castro (food downstairs, herb upstairs). Taking place in a marginalized community, the spot was allowed to flourish for a time. Marijuana was so central to life in the Castro—a weave of medical and sexual freedom—that it mushroomed into a full-fledged movement.
California passed a major reform, the Moscone Privacy Act, reducing an ounce to a misdemeanor from a felony. Imagination was thriving. I vividly remember one community march for Prop W in 1978 led by the artist’s teenage daughter on roller skates. Brownie Mary was posting flyers of a cartoon of herself, eyes twinkling, holding a tray of steaming brownies with a way to get in touch with her. Every week, she baked hundreds of brownies out of her tiny apartment kitchen, using donated leaf from local growers. When Mary ran out of leaf, she and I would team up and I’d go to the country for pounds.
Even without much money, freedom was real and within reach.
Dennis Peron’s Castro Castle in San Francisco’s Castro district. PHOTO John Entwistle
Assassination Aftermath
In the first week in November 1978, San Francisco’s Prop W passed by 58% with endorsements from Mayor George Moscone and Supervisor Harvey Milk, who were friends with Peron and the cannabis community.
We celebrated the victory.
But not for long.
Three weeks later, homophobic cop, Dan White, walked into San Francisco City Hall and assassinated both Moscone and Milk, two wildly popular public officials. “White Night” riots broke out. Police cars became fair game. An outpouring of anger and grief spilled over the edges at the insanity defense of the jive twinkie, used to escape conviction at jury trial. San Francisco absorbed the blows of outrage and extreme sadness. The lives of two close friends were snuffed out due to their belief in freedom. Dan White eventually killed himself.
Later, Peron told me he believed the 58% success of the legalization initiative ultimately caused the assassinations.
Legendary cannabis and LGBTQ+ activists Dennis Peron (R) and Harvey Milk (L).
Arrival of AIDS
The AIDS crisis of the 1980s and ’90s entered the LGBTQ+ community as an intruder. It hit gay men the hardest, causing healthy young adults to waste away from previously unknown widespread immune deficiencies and cancers thought to have been spread by unprotected sex, shared needles and blood.
AIDS buyers’ clubs formed, seeking alternative medicines and suppressed information. The government offered nothing beyond AZT-type toxins on already compromised immune systems. This produced a generation of health-conscious activists who took it upon themselves to fill the knowledge void. Shanti volunteers delivered medicine to those in need.
What had started as a modest living for Mary in the 1970s became a volunteer labor of love in the subsequent decades. Every week for years, Ward 86 at San Francisco General became a hotbed of happiness when Brownie Mary arrived—an angel of mercy driving the mothership—with dozens of home-baked brownies in her goody bag. None of the staff nurses or doctors ever turned her in before Prop 215 became law. They protected and encouraged her presence to lift spirits (and appetites).
Dr. Donald Abrams, one of the original clinicians/investigators to recognize and define early AIDS-related conditions, gave Mary the green light. He treated thousands of patients over those years, all while applying for grants to research cannabis and AIDS, so he knew what AIDS patients needed.
Brownie Mary was the beloved centerpiece of the Prop 215 trio that achieved the vote for medical marijuana: Mary as Mother, Peron as Father, and Dr. Tod H. Mikuriya as Grandfather—an elder cannabis statesman legitimizing the knowledge.
The public moved at lightning speed to get behind medical purposes, polling at 92% support in a single generation from 1996 to 2019. Whereas California lawmakers took nearly two decades to introduce regulatory legislation for medical purposes in 2015—and only then because Prop 64 loomed large on the 2016 ballot.
The time to decide had arrived.
The California State Legislature passed a second stage Prop 215 law—SB420 in 2014—for “enhanced access to medical marijuana through collective cooperative cultivation” under the California Attorney General’s ‘closed loop guidelines’, now sunsetted, killing a collective way of life for thousands of small family farms.
“Brownie Mary” Rathbun’s mural at the Castro Castle, Dennis Peron’s San Francisco home. PHOTO Gracie Malley for Cannabis Now
Evolution of the LGBTQ+ Community
Through the 1980s, the community closed ranks with empathetic lesbians nurturing their brothers. This was the beginning of recognition among lesbians that the term ‘gay’ to cover all same-sex relations was self-effacing. Gay women were increasingly invisible as the epidemic became increasingly visible, with the term generally associated with males and illness, focused on gay men at the center of the public health crisis—not a healthy image for acceptance of same-sex relations.
This caused the lesbian dissent, which ultimately led to the broader, more inclusive LGBTQ+ identity, rather than simply ‘gay’—from exclusively gay, to lesbian and gay, to bi—i.e., a spectrum of sexuality, exclusively one or the other on the ends with the middle embracing either or both. The Q was for Questioning or Queer and other sexual freedom issues.
Trans-inclusion took a rockier path. One conference I attended focused on Beth Elliot, considered by many to be ‘not a real woman,’ who, therefore, shouldn’t be there. After a discussion about whether she was pre-op or post-op, the main thing seemed to be a desire for privacy in an atmosphere of trust with men—any men—being unwelcome, as a lesbian community base was being built.
Resistance to trans inclusion collapses slowly.
Chelsea Manning is the most infamous impactful principled example. After years under tortuous prison conditions for releasing war crimes documents, Manning is back in prison for refusing to testify against Wikileaks or Assange. That saw the 2017 Pride Board, with corporate sponsors, rescind its invitation to Manning to lead the Parade. Angela Davis reveals that murders of trans people are disproportionately high among oppressed people.
Cannabis Buyers’ Club Infancy
The public was leading the learning curve. San Francisco’s Hemp Preparations Initiative passed locally in 1991 by an unprecedented 82%. Fears of public condemnation didn’t materialize—voter support was over the top. This spurred momentum for putting compassionate use in the hands of CA voters.
This level of public support helped spark CHAMP (Cannabis Helps Alleviate Medical Problems), the first cannabis buyers’ club at Church and Market, a membership space for socializing in an atmosphere of healing and trust, where marijuana was abundant with a doctor’s approval despite being federally illegal. They operated out of a gigantic two-story room above a bar across from Safeway, during constant mass traffic. It was no secret. As early as ‘1992, San Franciscans saw lines 20 deep, waiting for their turn to get in—20 steps to the second floor without an elevator.
Traffic was brisk; appreciation was high.
Then came the raid and prosecution of CHAMP leaders, ending in an acquittal at trial with testimony from San Francisco District Attorney Terence Hallinan that he approved the grow. Stalwarts such as Ken Hayes prevailed and kept it alive.
Cannabis and LGBTQ+: Mary Rathbun and Dennis Peron attending a Pride Parade (1995).
Turn to Initiatives
CHAMP’s success led to Dennis Peron’s brainchild—a full-fledged cannabis buyers’ club in a mammoth three-story building on Market Street in the heart of downtown San Francisco. It served as a private membership of patients and caregivers, providing quality medical cannabis and a healing space to socialize. Local musicians performed. Peron paid the rent from sales of bud cultivated by members. It was all about flower as oils and vapes had not evolved.
The first floor was for intake; the second had tables and low lights for eating, toking and socializing; the third was the bud bar. There were hanging plants and bowls of organic oranges. Everyone had a doctor’s approval or could sign up for one. The atmosphere was welcoming, the membership diverse.
AIDS patients were focused on signing up a half-million registered voters to make the 1996 ballot. Halfway through the signature drive, they realized they needed professional help to qualify. Previously resistant moderates were willing to fund professionals for the remaining quarter-million signatures once they realized it was close enough. They also wanted control of the campaign—especially the voter handbook ballot argument and rebuttal.
The two perspectives clashed—professionals v. hippies, moderates v. radicals. The point of agreement was funding the remaining signatures. They did that and then agreed to go their separate ways. Moderates set up a Southern California office, submitting their own ballot argument, while the ‘Peronistas’ submitted their ballot argument from headquarters in Northern California.
California’s Secretary of State chose the moderates’ ballot argument and rebuttal as the best representation of the issue. But the ecstatic election night spotlight was on Market Street, where it all began.
The separation strategy was an effective division of differences, allowing all viewpoints, allocating functions and reducing infighting. Voters affirmed medical cannabis by 56%. 82 years of prohibition ended with ‘rights’ for ‘medical purposes’ that had once been crimes. The real change emerged from the life-and-death public health emergency of the AIDS epidemic in LGBTQ+ communities that suffered the most.
To the evident credit of the LGBTQ+ community, sparked by Peron’s insistence on voters as allies, Prop 215 led to a balance. All the negatives of the AIDS epidemic produced a prohibition breakthrough for society, with access to medical cannabis, and people’s lives were changed for the better.
Coming out as a hip bi-feminist cannabis activist in the late 1960s and early 1970s shaped my connection to the LGBTQ+ community. The Castro was a home base. I discovered an abundance of herb and open-mindedness about mind-expanding psychedelics with no tolerance for hard drugs.
What you don’t do is as important as what you do do.
I got involved in the California Marijuana Initiative (CMI) 1972, from day one. I also co-founded Grassroots/Election Action, a petitioners’ co-op in the ’80s, coordinating multiple peace and justice initiatives on the SF ballot from our office in the Mission District, paying per signature, winning five out of eight. That included the Apartheid Consumer Boycott, aimed at companies doing business with South Africa. The Nuclear Free Zone, stopping Battleship Missouri’s homeporting, based on no funding for nuclear military installations. Public Property Voting Rights, requiring a public vote for giveaways of public property. And Hemp Preparations, a grassroots collaboration with Peron for signatures.
I sought refuge in the Castro through street vending, selling bumper stickers, buttons, books, magazines, magnets and other political literature—all First Amendment-protected messages—to help get through a series of cannabis cases and convictions in the 1990s.
The community broadly supported my constitutional challenge to the marijuana laws for lack of medical access—as unreasonable seizures of medicine, unequal compared to other medicines and cruel punishment of a medical act—when no one else did. They understood that some things are worth fighting for.
My medical marijuana prosecutions encompassed 10 busts in 11 years, with convictions and jail in three counties. P. v Trippet granted three things on appeal for carrying two pounds of medical leaf for migraine headaches I experienced from the age of six:
1. Medical cannabis transportation = ‘implicit right’ to carry medicine you can legally possess (which has been extended to cultivation).
2. Quantity standard = amount ‘reasonably related’ to your medical condition—ruled in 1997, affirmed 2010 (P. v Kelly).
3. Retroactivity to apply to pre-1996 convictions.
I was vending at my Castro corner when Peron brought me the news of my transportation precedent. BAR covered my case. I felt nurtured by the spirit of community… and we won.
There is a connection.
Dennis Peron at the Prop 215 campaign headquarters in 1996.
Stonewall Gave Birth to Equality
Not so long ago, the New York Police Department publicly apologized for its violent attack on Stonewall Inn more than half a century ago—it shows the LGBTQ+ movement was born fighting back. The Stonewall riots marked the birth of the modern gay movement, representing all sexual orientations and gender identities, inclusively, implicitly, without prejudice, including lesbian, gay, bi, drag, cross-dressing and transgender.
But the evolution wasn’t delineated or predestined.
It grew from the culture of the era. The complex compelling nature of sexual freedom. Disavowing restrictions society imposed on freedom of choice in same-sex relations and access to abortion. Grace Slick defied Puritan standards by taking off her top while performing “White Rabbit”—her song about LSD—at San Francisco’s 1967 Human Be-In.
A peace, sex and drugs counterculture were coming of age and connecting it all—youth, feminism, freedom to love and psychedelic rock revolution, amidst anti-war, anti-draft sentiment for peace and justice. In summary: peace, sexual freedom, medical freedom, access to kind drugs and great music.
LSD was outlawed to end the freedom of the counterculture.
Within the LGBTQ+ community, lesbians broke the mold, demanded recognition, rejected the narrow stereotype of ‘gay’ as the universal icon to represent the whole community and changed the order in LGBTQ+, reversing gay dominance, encouraging female emergence—balancing the equality scale.
I’ll welcome the day when initials don’t represent separate identities because sexual freedom and respectful relations are universal values.
There’ll come a day when marijuana equality is as accepted as marriage equality. The LGBTQ+ community uniquely intertwines cannabis with medical and sexual freedom, at the intersection where both outlaw groupings—pushed to the margins and shadows where polite society can ignore their concerns—turn those negatives into benefits for society. All of society.
There’s a strong barrier to progress on the issue of Trans & the power it is generating as a force and factor within GLBT & the world at large without being educated about what’s at stake for transgender people and what the laws reflect (over 75 new local laws this year alone with 500 pending, all on the issues of LGBTQ+). There is no education on the meaning of Trans or distinctions between transvestite and transsexual inside or outside the sexual freedom movement. It is largely a void.
Human Rights Campaign has declared a State of Emergency for LGBTQ+, showing it considers the current situation to be dire in need of intervention. We need to keep clarifying distinctions and contradictions which will make it easier to communicate with the American people and win hearts and minds on a touchy subject, as we did with ‘marijuana for medical purposes’ over the past decades. We need to strengthen our support for gender-affirming care services and abortion providers. And we need to help create policies that will lead the nation toward compassion and protection, not punishment and prohibition.
It’s been a quarter-century since California became the first state to legalize medical marijuana. Since then, cannabis has evolved significantly. The last decade in particular has seen a dramatic shift with regards to reform; most states have legalized the plant for either medicinal and/or adult use. In fact, the legal cannabis industry is now responsible for more than 300,000 full-time jobs in the U.S.
As the landscape changes and the stigma surrounding cannabis wanes, one thing remains clear: Access to high-quality cannabis education is critical for the industry to thrive. Oaksterdam University (OU), founded in Oakland in 2007, offers an authoritative and cutting-edge curriculum curated by industry pioneers. OU prides itself on setting the gold standard for cannabis academics.
“Our superpower is our students,” says Dale Sky Jones, OU Executive Chancellor.
With deep roots in early advocacy efforts, the nation’s first cannabis college has shaped a generation of professionals from legacy cultivators to up-and-coming operators. The school, with more than 50,000 alumni worldwide, has a network that includes top growers, entrepreneurs and policymakers.
And it’s not just industry professionals who rely on OU to provide the latest cannabis knowledge. Regulators, researchers and government officials all look to the university to help frame tomorrow’s legal marijuana marketplace.
Horticulture expert Jeff Jones (L) and Executive Chancellor Dale Sky Jones (R).
The Beginning
Oaksterdam University was initially formed as a way to strengthen California’s medical cannabis community, back when the notion of adult-use was but a distant fantasy. Drug policy reform activist, Richard Lee, was inspired to establish the school after a visit to Cannabis College in Amsterdam and was so driven by his desire to legitimize the fledgling cannabis industry, he went forward with creating Oaksterdam University.
Jones, Oaksterdam’s current Executive Chancellor, is an advocate in her own right. She fought alongside Dennis Peron on behalf of Prop 215, and she volunteered as an instructor when OU was first founded.
“Early on, Oaksterdam was entirely about the patients’ safe medical cannabis access,” Jones says. “Back then, it was learning about how to become a qualified patient; how to grow your own medicine; how to grow some extra medicine and share it with your collective; or how to potentially pay your mortgage that way.”
Jones eventually made her way through the ranks, taking over as Executive Chancellor in 2012 from Lee after the DEA raided the university along with the affiliated Oaksterdam Museum and Coffeeshop Blue Sky.
With deep roots in early advocacy efforts, the nation’s first cannabis college has shaped a generation of professionals from legacy cultivators to up-and-coming operators.
That same year, Colorado and Washington became the first two states to fully legalize adult-use cannabis. Other states soon followed, and it wasn’t long before Oaksterdam was the premier destination for quality (and highly in-demand) cannabis education. Suddenly, it wasn’t just about teaching people how to grow a little extra medicine — an entire supply chain was being formed.
“The needs of who needed to understand this industry change, and we’ve changed our curriculum over the years to meet those needs,” Jones said.
From benevolent caregivers just trying to avoid prosecution, to commercial facilities trying to remain compliant, Oaksterdam’s core mission of imparting accurate cannabis knowledge has never wavered, particularly now as the federal fight for legalization rages on.
“We’ve always started with a prerequisite of arming students with what they need to know to make sure that they don’t lose it all,” Jones says. “The most expensive mistake is the one you didn’t see coming when you didn’t understand your risk.”
Oaksterdam University students learn practical knowledge and academic research.
The Work
Oaksterdam aims to offer a wide breadth of coursework designed to combine practical knowledge with academic research. Designed by leading industry entrepreneurs and thought leaders, OU’s curriculum changes in tandem with the marketplace. Whether it’s new discoveries in lesser-known cannabinoids or a breakthrough in extraction, students receive the most relevant and up-to-date cannabis expertise available.
As the industry moves toward standardization, the need for institutions such as Oaksterdam is proving to be critical. In its infancy, the school provided a safe space to share early insights into cannabis horticulture and growing techniques. Practices that were at one time found only on message boards or in magazines could be explored in depth and shared with a wider audience in an authoritative yet approachable way. Today, the school covers a vast range of subjects touching every corner of the industry including politics and history, legal rights and responsibilities, research and science of cannabis and more.
Oaksterdam University has cemented a position as the foremost cannabis educational facility in the country. But at its core, it’s a school that puts people first.
“All the way through we remind folks whose shoulders we stand on that this industry began as a movement — it was about helping patients first,” Jones says emphatically. “It was never about legalizing weed. It was about legalizing people.”
This story was originally published in the print edition of Cannabis Now.
When it comes to the medical marijuana era—including understanding compassionate care—it pays to know a bit of history.
Far from being a mere historical footnote in the long march towards legalization, the advent of state-sanctioned medical cannabis markets represented a game-changing victory on multiple fronts. From a policy perspective, the success of California’s Prop 215 in 1996 set in motion a domino effect that inspired numerous other states to follow suit by subsequently enacting medical marijuana laws of their own.
What these laws accomplished was nothing short of radical: They allowed those suffering from a variety of medical ailments to purchase, consume and benefit from cannabis without fear of legal repercussion. But it didn’t go off quite so cleanly. Many licensed operations endured frequent, aggressive raids from federal authorities. Despite such challenges, some craft cannabis cultivators in California’s Emerald Triangle still pine for the medical-only days.
It makes sense. As a far looser market, requirements for testing, taxes, packaging and licensing all still existed but were notably less stringent than they’d ultimately become following California’s move to legalize recreational cannabis sales in 2018.
Another reason for these laments stems from the highly lucrative, rapidly growing cannabis industry, with its focus clearly shifting from medicine to money. Case in point: It took a monumental effort from advocates to fix a loophole in Prop 64 (California’s adult-use bill) that essentially killed the state’s landmark compassionate care program. To understand what happened, one needs to look at how these programs work and who they were originally designed to help.
Free Weed
The underlying concept behind compassionate care programs is that those in need should always have access to safe, quality medicine—regardless of whether they can afford it. At the onset, this group was largely composed of those living with HIV/AIDS, and cannabis had been deemed a potentially effective treatment for related symptoms, such as nausea, loss of appetite, pain relief and depression. With some hope in sight,
brave individuals, including Prop 215 co-author Dennis Peron and the legendary “Brownie” Mary Rathbun, risked prison time to ensure patients hospitalized in San Francisco-area hospital AIDS wards were able to access cannabis.
When Prop 215 became law in 1996, it established the basic tenets for how cannabis compassionate care programs should operate. It’s a blueprint that basically continues to this day: Cultivators donate flower to licensed dispensaries, which in turn offer it to qualified patients at discounted rates, or for no charge at all. One of the reasons these programs worked was because, as a charitable enterprise, donations of cannabis weren’t subject to tax fees. Unfortunately, as mentioned above, this became a big problem after California enacted Prop 64 in 2016.
The issue became that in addition to requiring licensed growers to pay high taxes on cannabis cultivated for sale, Prop 64 failed to exempt flower grown for compassionate care from taxation. Normally happy to donate, cultivators understandably balked at being asked to pay for giving away free product. Thankfully, the issue was resolved in 2020 when Gov. Gavin Newsom signed the Dennis Peron and Brownie Mary Act, once again making it possible for operators to distribute medical cannabis without the brutal taxes.
But as more and more states opt to evolve their industries from medical-only to a hybrid of adult-use and medical sales, are all patients being given the care and attention they deserve?
Making Room for Medicine
Barring federal policy reform and the establishment of a new nationwide set of standards, to gain the most accurate picture, one must approach this issue on a state-by-state level. As things stand today, there are now medical-only states, states with laws supporting both medical and recreational markets, and states where all products with more than a trace of THC continue to be fully prohibited.
Fortunately, a combination of thoughtful policymakers, seasoned advocates and generous cannabis companies are working to ensure patients continue to be an overall priority in the industry. In Oregon, for example, many dispensaries are dual-licensed—a quirk of the state’s legislation, but also a testament to the stores’ own values and desire to take care of their medical customers.
(To clarify, being a medical patient doesn’t automatically make someone a compassionate care patient, though there’s certainly overlap between these groups.)
How compassionate care programs will figure into federal legalization policy when such a day eventually arrives will be a matter of which bill gets the favor of Congress. If those in charge do attempt to forget the rights of individuals needing access to free or discounted cannabis, one can expect cannabis advocates to fight for patient rights, as they have since the days of Prop 215.
There isn’t much clearer evidence of an activist’s impact than having a legal doctrine that expands civil rights and personal liberty named in your honor.
This is the claim to fame of the woman behind what a California court in 1997 designated as the “Trippet Standard.”
Sudi “Pebbles” Trippet was a lifelong activist even before her name was inscribed in the annals of California case law. As noted in a profile on the Emerald Triangle’s local news site Redheaded Blackbelt, Trippet grew up in Tulsa, Oklahoma and launched her activist career at the precocious age of 17, when she helped to de-segregate public restaurants and lunch counters with the local chapter of the NAACP. A few years later, she was at the very first national march on Washington D.C. to protest the war in Vietnam, with Students for a Democratic Society in April 1965. After some time in the San Francisco Bay Area, in 1970 she moved to Mendocino County as part of the back-to-the-land wave. In 1972, she joined the campaign for the California Marijuana Initiative — the state’s first legalization initiative, which won about a third of the vote.
Years later, she would recall to “The Cannabis Trail,” an online oral history of the Emerald Triangle, her long years of “daily activism, against the war in Vietnam, against apartheid, against nuclear proliferation, against marijuana prohibition. Whatever the issue was, I was there to be a part of it.”
But the defining episode of her life began on Oct. 17, 1994, when a traffic stop by a local cop in the unincorporated community of Kensington, in the Berkeley Hills of Contra Costa County, turned up an estimated 2 pounds of cannabis.
Immortalized in Case Law
When Trippet went before the jury, she argued both a medical necessity defense, based on her use of cannabis to treat migraines, as well as a “religious necessity,” claiming protection under the Religious Freedom Restoration Act of 1993. The court didn’t buy it. She was convicted of possession and transporting of marijuana, and sentenced to six months.
She of course appealed. And, as fate would have it, her case opened before California’s First District Court of Appeal in San Francisco on Nov. 4, 1996 — just one day before the state’s voters approved Proposition 215, the historic medical marijuana initiative.
This opened up a new avenue for her medical necessity defense. She now argued, first that Prop 215 applied to her case retroactively; and secondly that the medical defense it codified necessarily implies a right to transportation as well as possession of cannabis —so both charges should be thrown out.
On Aug. 15, 1997, the appellate court issued a partial ruling in her favor. It agreed that Prop 215 should be applied retroactively, and that it includes an “implicit right” to transport cannabis. Rather than overturning her conviction, however, the First District remanded the case back to the trial court for further consideration in light of its findings.
The First District decision included the following language: “The test should be whether the quantity transported and the method, timing and distance of the transportation are reasonably related to the patient’s current medical needs… Because there is a possibility (albeit remote) that appellant can establish that the two pounds of marijuana she was admittedly transporting at the time of her arrest (or at least all of it above 28.5 grams) met this test, the trial court should… determine this issue on remand.” (28.5 grams is the decriminalization threshold in California.)
And thus the Trippet Standard was born.
Trippet argued that because she typically smokes five “fatties” a day to treat her migraines, and the stash she was busted with was mostly leaf rather than bud, there was a good argument that the two pounds was indeed for her own medical needs. The lower court actually declined to re-hear the case, and the charges were dropped. Although Trippet had already served much of her sentence before the appeal, in the end it was a legal victory. The Trippet Standard has since been applied in several other cases across California.
‘Trust the American People’
This was but one of many legal battles Trippet has waged over her right to cannabis — a reality she has emphasized in media interviews over the years.
“In the ’90s, I thought, am I going to have to be on trial for the rest of my life?” she recalled to the Ukiah Daily Journal in 2009, noting that she was arrested 10 times between 1990 and 2001.
In December 2017, NBC aired the documentary “Bay Area Revelations: Cannabis Rush,” in which Trippet was interviewed by actor Peter Coyote. A transcript of the interview is on the website of the medical marijuana journal O’Shaughnessy’s.
“I was busted 10 times in 11 years in five counties,” Trippet told Coyote. “It was usually on the road driving late at night. My Sonoma County bust came in 1990. My Marin County bust in 1992. My Contra Costa bust in 1994, and also the Humboldt County bust and the Palo Alto bust.”
Noting that her most important legal victory came on appeal, Trippet added that, paradoxically, “to lose is a good thing… because if you lose, you have the opportunity to win higher for everybody. That’s where you set precedent.”
Trippet continues to live outside the Mendocino town of Albion, where she remains involved in two local organizations that she co-founded: The Medical Marijuana Patients Union and the Mendocino Medical Marijuana Advisory Board. She is currently launching a Cannabis Elders Council, with an aim of keeping alive a community-rooted culture around the plant amid its commercialization by the industry. She’s also involved in the Cannabis Culture Museum, which will soon be opening in Willits, with a similar aim.
In a recent interview with the vlog Grow Sisters, Trippet summed up the democratic ethic behind her many legal fights: “My advice is to take it to trial, to trust the American people.
TELL US, do you think cannabis is a medical necessity for you?
For
decades, growers from Northern California’s Emerald Triangle — the area encompassing Mendocino,
Humboldt and Trinity counties — have been the epicenter of America’s cannabis
scene.
The Golden State had the first legal medical marijuana market with the passing of Prop 215 in 1996. Proposition 64, the Adult Use Act, legalized growing, selling and using cannabis recreationally in November 2016.
Thousands of cannabis businesses have emerged since, all trying to establish themselves in an already saturated and highly regulated market. The industry has seen unparalleled innovation and investment across categories like product development and technology, causing a so-called “Green Rush.” It has been predicted that by 2024, the California cannabis market will comprise 25% of the entire market for cannabis in the U.S.
However,
due to the immaturity of the market, little data is available to help support
the industry. In order to help shape product development and strategic
decision-making, companies need to ask fundamental questions, like who buys the
product and what do they use it for?
To
help fill these knowledge gaps, NorCal Cannabis Company undertook a first-of-its-kind
study of California’s cannabis consumers. Using an online panel, the survey
questioned 1529 people and represents of all California cannabis consumers 21
years and older.
Jeffrey
Graham is the VP of Business Intelligence at NorCal Cannabis Company. He helps
the company make smarter business decisions using data. According to Graham,
they decided to carry out this research because “there were many fundamental
questions about the California cannabis consumer that were unanswered, so we
decided to conduct research on our own.”
According
to Graham, the most surprising thing he discovered during the research process
was that many of the preconceptions about cannabis aren’t true. So they decided
to group their findings into five myths:
Myth
1: Recreational users
get high for fun, while medical users are focused on their health.
The
reality is, most cannabis consumers use cannabis for both recreational and
medical reasons.
Myth
2: Women are an
emerging market segment of new cannabis consumers.
In
fact, women already use cannabis as much as men.
Myth
3: A handful of brands
are dominating the California cannabis market.
The
truth is that no brand has achieved a significant foothold in the market.
Myth
4: All Californians
have access to legal cannabis.
Unfortunately,
in reality, they don’t.
Myth
5: Consumers are
migrating from dispensaries to delivery.
In reality, consumers want an omnichannel experience to maximize their experiences.
“What
concerns us is the lack of availability that exists for regulated cannabis for
so many people,” says Graham on the finding. “The research shows how cannabis
gives relief for so many people for things like pain, insomnia and depression.
California voters approved the legalization of cannabis, but people still do
not have legal access throughout most of the state.”
Graham
believes that the study is important because it shows that cannabis helps with
“a variety of fundamental and important ways” and it isn’t a simple case of
‘recreational’ and ‘medicinal’
“I
would like people to understand that many of the assumptions they have about
cannabis consumers, cannabis usage, and cannabis availability may be wrong,”
says Graham.
To read the NorCal Cannabis Company’s report in full, visit norcalcann.com.
When I look back to the beginning of the 2010s, to where the emerging world of cannabis stood ten years ago, it’s clear that we lived and worked in a whole other scene back then. In 2010, California’s Proposition 19 (also known as the Regulate, Control & Tax Cannabis Act) was an initiative on the November ballot, but it was narrowly defeated. Even though Proposition 215 — permitting the use of medical cannabis — was passed years earlier in November 1996, the citizens of the state were still not yet ready to go all the way. It took several more years to further break down the stigmas around cannabis, and we still have a long way to go.
Here in Mendocino County, I began growing cannabis for medical uses in full sun as soon as I could, with my partner Swami Chaitanya. In those days, we’d gather several scripts from various patients and grow a few pounds for each of them. I must admit that often the patient was not the only one to consume our flower, but they always got their fair share in return for the script. We were very much in the grey area of legality. But considering we’d all been complete outlaws before, this was a huge step.
It was in 2014 when the first cannabis political organizations began to form in various California counties. Slowly, farmers were willing to come off their remote mountain ranches and began to speak up, knowing that if we did not help shape the future of legal cannabis in our state, there would be no future for us in it.
It was a bold step when we formed the Mendocino Cannabis Policy Council that year. Meetings were held at least once a month, often at the local grange or at AREA 101 in Laytonville (home of The Emerald Cup). None of us were very good at setting up official organizations, so plenty of time was spent figuring out simply how to write a mission statement and create by-laws. We spoke about marketing our county’s fine cannabis, talked about influencing our conservative Board of Supervisors and shared growing and sales techniques. Plus, there was always news and gossip about who got busted recently and the price of weed on the illicit market.
In retrospect, I realize that very few of those farms that were involved back then are still in the business. As the harsh reality of coming into compliance became more evident and people saw the full costs it would entail, many began to back off, either retreating to the “traditional market” as we call it now, or quitting altogether. Growing cannabis has always been a transitional business, but this was different. Many of the original growers, the real “OGs”, were packing up and leaving, while upstarts were entering the scene with glorious dreams of easy fortune.
We welcomed one and all, although at times we felt a twinge of jealousy over the farms that had enough financial backing to make a big impact. Once brands came into being, many of the big guys who drove the giant pick-ups and lived high on the hog pushed their way in, as if to prove they had it all wrapped up. Others showed up from all corners of the globe, ready to take on huge investments and be winners in the cannabis game. Enormous numbers were tossed around with ease, and many thought they’d strike it rich in the Green Rush.
Taking the long view at the close of this tumultuous decade, the picture is coming into focus. Several of those big players, who took in massive investments based on convertible notes, are facing insurmountable debts they cannot repay. They may have built recognized brands, but without enough licensed stores to sell their products and exorbitant taxes that keep many consumers going to their dealer down the street, they are at a loss. Suddenly the pipe dreams of fame and fortune are literally going up in smoke.
So who remains in the game at this point? It is at the big cannabis events where the shift becomes most evident. Sadly, we see very few actual farmers anymore at industry events like the Hall of Flowers or cannabis festivals like the Emerald Cup, and forget about finding a farmer at MJBiz. Mostly the companies present are large corporations who can afford to spend $100,000 for a slick booth and the staff to work it. No longer does a customer get to meet the farmer in person, smoke a joint and hear stories about growing weed. Now it is all about the sales pitch and the glitzy packaging, not much different than if they were selling cosmetics or packaged foods. The personal touch is gone and has been replaced by classic consumerism.
I am happy to report that there remain a few small cannabis brands, such as Om Edibles and our Swami Select, who have survived because we have stuck to old-fashioned farming and production methods and, just as we grow our crop with organic methods, we do the same with our businesses. We continue to live simple lives, truly caring about the quality of our product and getting it into the hands of those who will truly appreciate and benefit from it. We may not be able to afford a fancy booth at an event, but we are there in person to share our authentic stories of the past and our dreams for the future.
We will continue to advocate to change unworkable policies, so that the day of full legalization will come and its benefits will be widely shared. The 2010s was a decade of making a new mold, and for some, breaking the old one. For the brands that carry on with integrity and faith, there remains hope. Not to say that only the small companies are good — there certainly are some large brands which are doing it right. But time is bound to sort out the greedy ones who only saw the money from those of us who truly have a passion for the plant and its magical products.
As we head into this new decade, we pray for peace and understanding to blossom, so that our planet may survive. We have learned a huge lesson over the past 10 years and feel ready to enter 2020 with great hope for advancement on many levels. It won’t be easy, but it’s bound to be interesting and a challenge well worth the effort if it brings pure cannabis to those who need it. That is our mission after all.
TELL US, do you feel pushed out of the cannabis industry?