SIFTING THROUGH ASHES

War on Drugs Focuses Examination of 2001 Violence at Rainbow Farm

Dean Kuipers likes keep track of what's happening around his hometown
of Kalamazoo.

Kuipers, deputy editor of Los Angeles City Beat, receives copies of
the Kalamazoo paper. So when Kuipers saw stories about the standoff
at the Rainbow Farm, he was immediately interested.

The story of the standoff pitting farm owners and marijuana
legalization advocates Tom Crosslin and Rollie Rohm against law
enforcement ended tragically in the late summer of 2001.

First the two men set their rural Cass County farm on fire and then
they died in a violent confrontation with law enforcement a few days
later. The Rainbow Farm standoff had the elements of stories that
become fixtures on TV news magazines shows or that result in
congressional investigations. The situation included two gay men who
owned a farm where advocates for the legalization of marijuana
gathered, a county prosecutor who had the son of one of the men
removed from the home, and a standoff that for many was similar to
the one in Waco, Texas, that ended tragically in 1993.

All of those factors combined to bring the local and national media
to Cass County, according to Kuipers.

National news outlets such as CNN and Rolling Stone joined The
Tribune and other local media in documenting the standoff, Kuipers said.

However, Rainbow Farm would not have the impact of the Branch
Davidian standoff. Within a few days, the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist
attacks swept the Rainbow Farm standoff from the headlines.

Kuipers was one of the few journalists outside this area who followed
the Rainbow Farm story after 9-11. His efforts resulted in the book
"Burning Rainbow Farm."

Why did Kuipers stay with the story? For one thing, the standoff
happened close to Kuipers' hometown, and the writer still had an
interest in what went on in southwest lower Michigan.

Kuipers also was attracted by the diverse people who visited the farm
over the years. Crosslin and Rohm drew thousands of "blue-collar
libertarians and hippie liberals, evangelicals and militiamen" to
Rainbow Farm event, according to Kuipers.

"In the media we reduce everything to a red state/blue state
confrontation, but (the Rainbow Farm) could not be reduced to that,
and that is why I wanted to write about it," Kuipers said.

The Rainbow Farm drew people of all political persuasions, according
to Kuipers. The uniting factor was an abiding dislike for the war on
drugs, Kuipers said.

Many people who attended concerts and other events at the farm
thought the nation's drug laws -- especially as those laws related to
marijuana use -- were draconian. Some saw no difference between using
marijuana responsibly and drinking a beer.

Of course, the difference is that marijuana is illegal and beer is not.

Many people believe that government has an obligation to keep drugs
such as heroin, cocaine and methamphetamine off the street. The
question is whether marijuana users should be lumped in with those
who use and sell the harder drugs, according to Kuipers.

That's what is happening now, and Kuipers is not sure the public
understands the implications.

They may think the jails are being filled with dealers and members of
drug gangs.

"But that's not who the drug laws arrest," Kuipers said. "They arrest
800,000 potheads a year."

There's always the possibility that the public understands and
supports the government's zero tolerance policy, according to
Kuipers. Most parents would be upset to learn that their children use
marijuana. Cass County Prosecutor Scott Teter believed the majority
of Cass County residents wanted the drug laws enforced.

Still, Kuipers hopes "Burning Rainbow Farm" will add to the momentum
that is encouraging people to rethink the nation's drug laws.