Weed Takes Root

MARIJUANA'S STEADY CREEP TOWARD LEGALIZATION NATIONWIDE

These are not your run-of-the-mill potheads jammed into the long,
narrow classroom at Oaksterdam University, a tiny campus with no sign
to betray its location on busy San Vicente Boulevard south of the
Beverly Center in Los Angeles. A serious vibe fills the loftlike
space, where rows of desks are arranged like church pews under
exposed ducts. No one clowns around or even smiles much. Instead,
eyes fix intently on a screen at the front of the darkened room.

Projected there is a photograph of a healthy marijuana plant under an
array of lights. Tonight's subject is Cannabis 101: growing the weed
in indoor gardens. It's delicate alchemy, as most of these students,
who range in age from their early 20s to late 50s, already know.
During the 13-week semester, many tend and keep notes on their own
clandestine nurseries in bedrooms and garages scattered around Los Angeles.

Encouraged by instructors, and by the prospects of staking out
ground-floor positions in the emerging world of "cannabusinesses,"
they cultivate popular varieties of bud while experimenting with
soils, temperatures, and light sources.

From the rear of the room, a baritone voice pipes up -- a student
remarking on the crystalline texture of the leaves when the plants
are raised under light-emitting diodes. "With the LEDs, it just looks
way frostier than anything under the high-pressure sodium," he says.

Details get technical, as in any science class, but the larger lesson
is clear to see. Here, as in many other places across America, the
future of cannabis is being sown -- and, make no mistake, it is a
future high on promise.

Oaksterdam takes its name from a bastardization of Oakland, where the
university began, and pot-friendly Amsterdam. Here, new growers and
dispensary operators are being trained like whole legions of Johnny
Appleseeds, soon to spread pot's blessings from one coastline to the
other. Not that anywhere is truly virgin ground, but consider: The
pro-marijuana movement has never had an army so large, politically
sophisticated, and well-funded, even if supporters downplay the
millions that roll in. Nor has it enjoyed such a frenzied period of
media exposure, a startling amount of it positive.

Never has there been such a concerted thrust to legalize the drug
nationwide -- for medical purposes, for the plain old joy of getting
stoned, and for a gold mine in profits to be reaped by those who
control the multipronged industry. Together with a rapidly shifting
public attitude toward pot and a White House willing to accept state
medical-marijuana laws, legalization seems as inevitable today as it
was unthinkable a generation ago. "We're almost at a zeitgeist," says
one of the high-profile lobbyists who is making it happen, Allen St.
Pierre, executive director of the National Organization for the
Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML) in Washington, D.C.

Zeitgeist has become one of the buzzwords of the campaign -- meaning,
in context, a sort of coming together of favorable forces. St.
Pierre, who can call on advisory-board input from the likes of Willie
Nelson and Woody Harrelson, is a glib former altar boy and preppy
from Massachusetts who likes to wear a marijuana-leaf lapel pin. He
says that in the past year, NORML has seen an unprecedented
escalation of Web-page hits, podcast downloads, new memberships, and
media calls. "We monitor [newspaper] columns, and editors have swung
in favor of reform," he says. "I will go give a lecture in Des
Moines, Iowa. The questions people are asking come right out of
watching Weeds on Showtime. It's quite remarkable."

Badgering newspapers and television programs to pay attention to the
subject used to be one of the critical challenges for people like St.
Pierre. Getting a meaningful dialogue started was half the battle.
Now the buzz is self-sustaining, indicating a willingness of America,
as a whole, to engage the subject.

"The first time, nearly eight years ago, I attempted to pitch a
marijuana-related story to CNN, they literally laughed at me,"
remembers Bruce Mirken, a San Francisco based spokesman for the
Marijuana Policy Project. "The person who answered the phone burst
out laughing. Now they're calling us. We've been on various
broadcasts and cable network shows 21 times [in 2009] -- at least a
couple on CNN. We've also been on the Today show, ABC World News,
really all over."

CNBC has run and rerun its recent documentary Marijuana, Inc.: Inside
America's Pot Industry, exposing the booming pot trade and the sordid
side of California's largest cash crop -- the shootings, thefts, and
arson fires; the homes in Humboldt and Mendocino counties gutted to
make room for illegal indoor nurseries; and the secluded parcels of
national forest planted with pot by Mexican cartels intent on
cornering metropolitan markets.

In September, Fortune magazine ran the headline "How Marijuana Became
Legal," as if the outcome of the fight were a fait accompli. "We're
referring to a cultural phenomenon that has been evolving for 15
years," observed author Roger Parloff, who suggested that the
critical, sea-changing climax might turn out to be a "policy reversal
that was quietly instituted [this year] by President Barack Obama."

Ah, Obama. Many attribute a good share of the present impetus to
Obama, the third president in a row to acknowledge smoking weed. Bill
Clinton famously claimed he never inhaled. George W. Bush fessed up
only after a private admission was secretly recorded and leaked to
ABC News. Obama won the everlasting affection of the pro-pot crowd
when he addressed the matter of inhaling and asked, "Isn't that the
point?" He also elicited joyous whoops when he jettisoned existing
Bush-era policy last fall and instructed Attorney General Eric Holder
and the vast federal antidrug apparatus to stand down in the
protracted war with states over medical marijuana. No longer would
private holders of medical-marijuana cards have to fear being busted
by federal agents after picking up a supply of kush from the corner
dispensary. Nor would dispensary owners have to worry about the feds.

For the marijuana lobby and its broader aims, the win was gigantic.
It removed -- for the current presidential term, at least -- the
daunting specter of federal interference, and turned virtually the
entire U.S. into one big, wide-open game board. Pot advocates divide
that game board state by state, believing that the surest way to
overcome conservative inertia that keeps pot outlawed is to spread
legalization keyed to states' rights to craft their own statutes.

Medical marijuana has been on the move since 1996 and is now legal in
14 states, including California, with at least a dozen more to debate
it soon. Proponents predict it will continue to hopscotch from state
to state much the way legalized gambling expanded along the
Mississippi River and throughout a lot of the country in the 1980s and 1990s.

"We believe medical marijuana will be in more than half the states in
two years ... and maybe 47 states in the next 10 years," says
attorney Sean T. McAllister, who led a successful crusade last fall
to get pot legalized in the small ski-resort town of Breckenridge,
Colo. In a vote that was largely symbolic, given that possession
remains a misdemeanor under Colorado law, 72 percent of Breckenridge
voters favored changing local laws to remove any sanctions for
private possession and use of less than an ounce of pot, meaning
that, on the city's books at least, there is no threat of jail, no
fine, and no danger of acquiring a criminal record.

McAllister acknowledges that medicinal use of weed is a wedge to help
pro-pot activists gain leverage in advancing recreational use of the
drug. "Medical marijuana is really leading the way, letting us see
what a taxed and regulated market for marijuana would look like," he says.

As Ethan Nadelmann, executive director of the Drug Policy Alliance in
New York City, put it, "The face of marijuana isn't some 17-year-old,
pimply-faced kid; it's an older person needing help."

The widening perception that cannabis is a godsend for sufferers of
cancer, AIDS, glaucoma, and other afflictions has partially erased
its own entrenched stigmas, including a reputation for dulling the
intellect. To be sure, the purported health benefits of marijuana --
so vital to its broadening acceptance -- are not without controversy.
One Web site, CannabisCenters.com, boasts more than 240 maladies that
respond to marijuana, from writers' cramp to cystic fibrosis. For
prostate cancer, Huntington's disease, ulcerative colitis, lupus, and
grand mal seizures, pot promises at least a whiff of relief.

But it's also a source of carcinogens. According to the federal
National Institutes of Health, "Marijuana smoke contains some of the
same, and sometimes even more, of the cancer-causing chemicals found
in tobacco smoke. Studies show that someone who smokes five joints
per day may be taking in as many cancer-causing chemicals as someone
who smokes a full pack of cigarettes every day." (On the other hand,
someone smoking five joints a day probably has bigger problems than
risk of cancer.)

The multimillion-dollar pot lobby has used the drug's analgesic
properties to press a more challenging agenda: to remove the barriers
to recreational use, either through outright legalization or, at
minimum, decriminalization, which, in most cases, means that being
caught with less than an ounce is only a legal infraction comparable
to a parking ticket.

On maps where activists track their progress nationally, they can
already block out 10 states -- including California, Colorado,
Massachusetts, and New York -- where the first offense involving
simple possession no longer carries jail time.

The image makeover is but one of the important factors now propelling
the movement. Another: the violence and obscene profits of the drug
cartels. Those problems have given rise to the Al Capone argument,
that if you make it legal, criminal dealers can't command exorbitant
sums from customers desperate for a high -- cash that would later be
spent on bribes, machine guns, and smuggling. Licensed and fully
vetted growers, operating just down the street, would render the
murderous drug kingpin as irrelevant as the Chicago bootlegger. In
the words of Mirken, "You don't need Al Capone to ship alcohol when
you have Anheuser-Busch."

As with things in the United States, a good idea can become a great
one if it involves making money -- and doubly so if it generates new
forms of tax revenue. Thus at a time of housing foreclosures and bank
failures, when California's state government faces a whopping $21
billion projected budget deficit and the city of Los Angeles is
sinking under $983 million in red ink, licensing and taxing marijuana
suddenly make sense even to some who might have abhorred the idea.

Lawful growers and retailers could cough up, say, $50 an ounce in
taxes or fees and still charge less to consumers than the
$150-an-ounce prices common on the black market. Governments would
rake it in -- and also save a fantastic amount on arresting,
prosecuting, and imprisoning pot offenders.

Harvard economist Jeffrey A. Miron, author of the 2004 book Drug War
Crimes: The Consequences of Prohibition, makes a case that legalizing
all banned drugs would benefit taxpayers nationwide by $77 billion a
year, both in generating new tax income and eliminating the costs of
handling offenders. Since marijuana represents about a third of the
illicit drug economy, legalizing pot would make a difference of
roughly $25 billion, he says.

Miron's estimate is generally in line with figures compiled by
pot-advocacy organizations, although getting firm numbers is
notoriously difficult given the vastly different ways in which
law-enforcement agencies catalog arrests and report marijuana data.

Jon Gettman, a former NORML president who operates a public databank
at www.drugscience.org, claims that legalizing marijuana would enrich
the public by $42 billion a year. In breaking down that sum, he puts
the current cost of legal enforcement at nearly $11 billion. He also
claims that federal, state, and local governments lose out on $31
billion annually in taxes and charges that could be gleaned from the
massive industry, based on an overall estimate of a marijuana trade
that totals $113 billion a year. Mirken concedes that squishy numbers
invite attacks from critics. But, he adds, "No doubt it's a big hunk of money."

Watching that money flow to criminals and cartel bosses has added
impetus to the push for change. Pro-marijuana forces, well-financed
and increasingly centralized in New York City and Washington, D.C.,
are often directly involved in helping to craft reform legislation
because of their deep knowledge about a subject murky to many in
power. The New York based Drug Policy Alliance, for example, employs
45 people and operates satellite offices in Washington, D.C., and
California and New Mexico. Its annual budget of $8 million comes in
part from George Soros' Open Policy Institute and also from about
25,000 small donors and a number of very wealthy businessmen, most
notably tech guru John Gilmore of Cygnus Solutions, Peter B. Lewis of
Progressive Insurance, John Glen Sperling of the University of
Phoenix, and George Zimmer of Men's Wearhouse.

Nadelmann says he spends about half of his time on the road, engaging
in debates, giving speeches, and conferring with pot advocates to
draft voter initiatives and to map out strategies. Close contact with
local groups enables him to marshal resources where they are needed
and also to bring hot spots to nationwide media attention. He can
rattle off lists of issues and locales -- the drive that brought
medical pot last year to Maine; the statewide decriminalization
approved in Massachusetts; the ballot tussles ahead in Arizona,
Nevada, and Oregon. He claims significant credit for Proposition 215,
California's landmark 1996 state ballot measure that authorized
medical cannabis. That campaign "was being run by local activists,"
he says. "I got involved, put together major funders and campaign
managers, and turned it into a professional campaign and won that
thing." During a recent stretch, Nadelmann flew from Santa Barbara to
Houston, on to San Diego, back to New York, then returned to Los
Angeles -- all to preach pot, all in a span of a few weeks.

As advocates step up the pressure, public opinions are shifting. A
Gallup poll showed 23 percent support for legalization in 1983. This
year, the finding was 44 percent, with more than half of the voters
in California in favor.

The number of highly placed government officials and jurists who have
joined the public call for marijuana reform would have been hard to
imagine even a decade ago. One example is retired Orange County
Superior Court Judge James P. Gray, author of the 2001 book Why Our
Drug Laws Have Failed and What We Can Do About It. He argues that
drug prohibitions are a "golden goose" for terrorist organizations, a
view that has gained traction with the public.

"We truly are seeing the most rapid gains in public support for
making marijuana legal that I've ever seen," Nadelmann says. "It
really feels like a new age." In his view, the changing attitudes
largely stem from the efforts of the Drug Policy Alliance -- formed
by a merger of two smaller groups in 2000 -- and similar
organizations, such as NORML and the Marijuana Policy Project.

While activists know there may be a limited time to seize the chance
offered by today's market conditions and Obama's laissez-faire
policies, they are also buoyed by fundamental changes going on in
America. The biggest of these is irreversible -- the supplanting of
hard-line ideologues with baby boomers weaned on Woodstock and flower power.

"A whole generation didn't know the difference between heroin and
marijuana," Nadelmann says. "That generation is mostly dying off. [In
its place] are tens of millions of parents and middle-aged people who
smoked marijuana and didn't become drug addicts."

On the contrary, they now fill elected seats and boardrooms. Is it
any wonder the tide seems unstoppable?

"We're looking at a perfect storm here," says former supervisor and
state Assemblyman Tom Ammiano (D San Francisco), who emblemizes that
new type of leader. The former stand-up comic spent part of the 1960s
among the hippies of Haight-Ashbury, grooving to the Grateful Dead.
He is now one of the most-watched figures in the national marijuana
struggle for one compelling reason: Assembly Bill 390, legislation he
introduced early last year that would make California the first state
in the nation to legalize and tax recreational pot.

Considered bold even among marijuana activists, Ammiano's measure
would remove cannabis from the state's banned-substances list, allow
private cultivation, levy fees and sales taxes, and prohibit sales to
minors and driving under the influence. A state analysis projects
annual revenues of $1.4 billion, a number that critics claim is
inflated. That figure does not include the enormous amount of state
and federal income and business taxes that would be paid by growers,
retailers, and their employees as part of a fully realized economic model.

According to the same state budget analysis, the value of today's
annual marijuana harvest in California is $13.8 billion, making weed
one of the state's biggest export crops. The value of the nation's
entire pot harvest is $35.8 billion, according to the analysis. Since
legalized medical cannabis is only a tiny fraction of the market and
the dispensaries typically operate as nonprofits, virtually no income
tax is collected. Indeed, income-tax projections have rarely played a
role in the debate over legalization, although that, too, appears to
be changing, especially in cash-strapped California.

"Our economic situation is egregious," says Ammiano, who plans to
begin conducting hearings this month. "I think people have begun to
take it seriously."

If Ammiano's bill fails -- and many think it's too much, too soon --
pot advocates have a Plan B, a narrower statewide initiative expected
to reach the ballot this November. That measure would rewrite the
criminal drug laws to make an exception for small amounts of
marijuana. Its mastermind and chief bankroller is Richard Lee, the
founder of Oaksterdam.

Lee, who opened his first campus in Oakland two years ago, says 6,000
people have taken his courses, which are organized into $250 weekend
seminars and $650 one-semester courses. At any given time, he says,
500 students are enrolled in classes at campuses in Los Angeles,
Sebastopol, and Oakland, where he recently unveiled a three-story
teaching facility.

The formidable flow of revenue helps Lee to finance further marijuana
reform. So far, he says, he has invested $1 million of his own money
in the initiative. Faced with a February deadline for submitting
433,000 signatures, he claims he has already gathered more than
600,000 and is still collecting more, just to be certain that enough
are valid. "The response has been overwhelming," he says.

If Californians light up, the beacon will be visible from sea to
shining sea. Nadelmann says he consulted with Ammiano and Lee on the
language of their proposals, and points out that California has
always been a bellwether of cultural change, especially when it comes
to pot. "Look what happened with [the passage of] Proposition 215,"
he says. "We were able to go to other states and get it on the
ballot. It's not as if the dominoes start falling, but people see
that something's possible." Proposition 36, California's 2000
initiative to favor drug treatment over jail time, was another
example: "Once that passed, we started seeing queries from probably
half the states over the following few years."

Aftereffects continue to ripple. Support for both medicinal and
recreational pot use has grown demonstrably stronger throughout the
West, especially in Oregon and Washington state. An estimated 200,000
revelers attended the annual Hempfest in Seattle last year. In
otherwise conservative Colorado, advocates staged a massive smokers'
rally in Boulder, and voters are expected to weigh a statewide
legalization measure in the next few years.

Whether the "devil weed" will ever play in Peoria is open to debate,
but in October, the Illinois Senate narrowly approved a
medical-marijuana bill, meaning it could become law in the next few
months, and pockets of support for pot have become evident in
Missouri and elsewhere in the heartland.

California's actions in 2010 may greatly influence the speed of those
campaigns.

Reefer activists readily acknowledge that the quickening pace of
change raises risks of a backlash. Intense concern already centers on
the poorly regulated mess in Los Angeles, where a confused and
largely paralyzed city council has allowed the proliferation of more
than 540 medical-marijuana dispensaries without regard to zoning or
other restrictions imposed elsewhere in California.

Law enforcement was never amenable to legalizing pot, but the
situation in L.A. -- a black eye to reformers everywhere -- can only
galvanize the resistance.

John Lovell, a lobbyist for the 4,000-member California Peace
Officers' Association, fairly bristles when confronted with the
argument that pot should be made legal because it's no worse than
booze. "What good comes of it?" he asks. "Right now, we have enormous
social and public-safety problems caused by alcohol abuse ... [and]
by pharmaceuticals. What is the good of adding another mind-altering
substance? Look at all the highway fatalities. Why do we want to
create another lawful substance that will add exponentially to that?"

That line of thinking suggests that society today would be more sober
and safe if alcohol or pharmaceuticals were banned -- an argument
U.S. history, particularly the era of Prohibition, does not bear out.
"I think everyone in law enforcement will take on this fight," Lovell
says. "I think people concerned about the social consequences of drug
abuse will take on this fight. I think there will be a broad range of
opposition."

Out in the streets, the counterinsurgence is readily apparent.
Marijuana arrests are up in California, despite the rising public
tolerance. Activists theorize it is not just because more people are
smoking the drug.

A similar spike has occurred in New York, even though it was one of
the first states to decriminalize small stashes of marijuana, 34
years ago. In fact, if there is a world capital for cannabis busts,
it is New York City, where 40,000 people were arrested on pot charges
in the last year.

Queens College sociologist Harry G. Levine is an expert on drug-abuse
patterns, and coauthor, with Craig Reinarman, of 1997's Crack in
America: Demon Drugs and Social Justice. "What we have in New York is
what you could call an epidemic of marijuana arrests," he says. "The
number one criminal offense in New York City is marijuana possession."

How is that possible, when pot has long been decriminalized there?

Levine explored the question by interviewing veteran and retired
police officers, legal-aid attorneys, and jailed smokers, producing a
scathing 100-page review of the NYPD. It became apparent, he says,
that police -- who have a vested interest in making as many arrests
as possible -- profit from pot, and often "trick" their suspects into
violating a specific law against openly displaying the weed in public.

"Technically, [police officers] are not allowed to go into people's
pockets," he says. "But they can lie to people. Lying to suspects is
considered good policing. They say ... 'We're going to have to search
you. If we find anything, it's going to be a mess for you ... so take
it out and show it to us now.'" As intimidated young people -- most
of them ethnic minorities -- empty their pockets of joints or nickel
bags, they're charged with a misdemeanor.

Such busts are huge business for the police, Levine points out. Not
only do they sweep potential bad guys into the system, generating
vast databases of fingerprints and photographs, but the arrests also
beef up crime statistics. Departments in big cities and small towns
alike use the numbers to secure fortunes in federal funding. Street
cops have an angle, too: They like to nab docile pot users -- easy to
find in poor pockets of town -- at the end of their patrol shifts,
when the extra hours filling out reports at the precinct house get
charged as overtime. In the jargon, the practice is known as "collars
for dollars."

New York's example suggests a system deeply invested in
criminalization, one that is unlikely to back down. When contacted by
a reporter for a response to Levine's assertions, an NYPD spokesman
demanded an e-mail query and hung up. Three were sent; none were answered.

Levine says his research has pointed to the same pattern in other
American cities. "Atlanta and Baltimore, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh,
Cincinnati, Cleveland, Chicago ..." He rattles off a long list. "The
Southwest is really bad. Houston ... San Antonio."

El Paso is another place where the ideological battle has flared
dramatically. With cartels committing 1,600 murders in a year's span
just across the border in Juarez, Mexico, El Paso City Councilman
Beto O'Rourke pushed a resolution last January calling for a
discussion on legalizing drugs to undercut the illegal market. "Mind
you, it was not to legalize anything, necessarily," says O'Rourke,
whose 10th-floor office overlooks the Rio Grande and the impoverished
Mexican metropolis beyond. "Basically, it was a way of saying the
current policy had failed; we need to put everything on the table and
have a dialogue."

The city council approved the resolution without dissent, but it was
vetoed by Mayor John F. Cook. An irked O'Rourke tried to override the
veto, only to be strong-armed by U.S. Representative Silvestre Reyes
(D-Tex.), who phoned all eight councilmembers to make sure the matter
was quashed. "You need to cut this out," Reyes said, as O'Rourke
remembers. "It's going to be tough to get [federal] money for the
community if you pass this."

Reyes, a tough law-enforcement man who spent 27 years in the U.S.
Border Patrol, might have handled it differently if the resolution
had only dealt with marijuana, rather than all drugs, says his press
deputy, Vincent Perez. As it was, the resolution was defeated -- and
drug deaths in Juarez have continued to climb. "We're almost at 2,300
murders" for 2009, O'Rourke says.

NORML, the lobbying group for the reform of marijuana laws, had a
field day lambasting Reyes on its Web site. Much as in New York,
where Levine's research has drawn nationwide media attention, the
"intense blowback" over the failed resolution actually achieved what
O'Rourke termed a Pyrrhic victory for the hard-liners and a step
forward for those willing to consider change. "All of a sudden we had
calls from all over the country," he says.

The psychological war is one the marijuana movement can win -- and is
why weed advocates will likely win, barring the unforeseen. It is not
quite a done deal, however, because the question of pot use, for
many, becomes a moral argument, and moral values are slow to change.

"People long for rules," says sociologist B.J. Gallagher, an author
and lecturer in Los Angeles. "Without them, the world would be
chaotic and unpredictable. We'd be having sex with each other's
spouses, we'd be stealing things. ... If we legalize pot, what next?
Cocaine? Heroin? That's what people are afraid of. It's not the pot,
per se. It's the bigger issue; where do we draw the line? So they
say, 'Let's not change the line.'"

But history shows that the line does change -- eventually. "When a
majority are saying, 'This does not make sense,' the line will
shift," Gallagher says. "We've seen it with [alcohol] prohibition,
slavery, women's rights. We're now seeing it with gay rights. Our
moral values change over time, despite the objection of people who
are terrified."

A new class is in session at Oaksterdam, a how-to about opening and
running medical-marijuana dispensaries. Dark-haired, bespectacled
lecturer Don Duncan, a prominent pot man due to his lobbying efforts
at Los Angeles City Hall and his ownership of a busy outlet in West
Hollywood, warns a room of rapt students to be mindful of the rules.
After federal agents raided his business in 2007, he says, the state
Board of Equalization slapped a lien on his house for nonpayment of taxes.

"Don't mess with those guys," he says. Pay your taxes. Pay your rent
on time. Don't drive a Bentley and take 'round-the-world vacations if
you're running a nonprofit collective, "but if you earn a healthy
salary because you work hard, that's okay. That's actually a very
patriotic and American way of life."

Next to speak is Robert A. Raich, a leading marijuana attorney with a
halolike crown of white hair. He gets down to the nitty-gritty of
applying for business licenses. Medical marijuana is still illegal in
the eyes of the federal government, even if the Obama administration
is backing away from enforcement. So be creative when you have to
fill out forms describing what you plan to sell, he says.

"Let me give you some truthful euphemisms," offers Raich, who seems
to delight in presenting them: medicinal herbs, Chinese herbs, cut
flowers, dried flowers. "You don't want to lie to the government," he
says cheerfully. "You just don't want to give them too much information."