UP IN SMOKE

Why Marijuana Users Are Unlikely to Lead the Next, Uh, Political
Revolution

Just how I wound up at the Hemp Festival last month is not something I
want to get into, at least not without my attorney present. But I do
want to make a few observations about the general state of the
marijuana-smoking community, of which I am a proud (and, if I may add,
medically necessitated) member.

But before I get into all that, I'd like to share a few warm memories
of my afternoon.

Well, let's see ... I did take notes. I must have misplaced them,
though. Anyway, here's (more or less) what I remember.

. There was a drum circle that included a topless woman with strips of
tape over her nipples. I don't know what these strips of tape said,
though I am willing to speculate that they didn't say Left or Right.

. There was an energetic band from Waltham whose songs sounded a bit
like Cheap Trick, if you can envision the members of Cheap Trick as,
perhaps, brain damaged.

. The Libertarian presidential candidate spoke. He was a large man in
a suit and tie and a fabulous 1977-vintage hairstyle. His basic
message was: government is your enemy.

. The average age of those in attendance was 19.

The main thing I noticed was that -- for all the scratchy hemp sandals
and bracelets on sale -- there was no actual paraphernalia on sale.
Not one single pipe or bong.

To be quite honest, I attended the festival, in part, because I wanted
to buy myself a cool little bong, because I am tired of
self-administering my medically necessary marijuana using a hacked-up
apple. (Or, when I'm out of apples, a jury-rigged Bic pen.)

But selling paraphernalia has become more and more dangerous of late.
As many of you may be aware, Attorney General John Ashcroft has
launched a heroic campaign to criminalize the sale of instruments used
to smoke pot.

I am going to leave aside my primary objection to Ashcroft -- which is
that he lost his last election to a dead guy and somehow got promoted
- -- because I want to emphasize the pointlessness of his endeavor.

We stoners may be a bit slow on the uptake, Ashcroft. But do you
really think that cutting off our supply of blown-glass one-hitters is
going to force us to quit smoking up? (And if you do, may I please
have some of whatever you're smoking?)

But I must say that the fact that I couldn't buy at pipe at the Hemp
Festival did underscore one disturbing truth about the larger stoner
community: we are not exactly an imposing political force.

Indeed, if I had to choose the population least likely to form a
coherent lobby, pot smokers would be among my top three, right
alongside contented Red Sox fans and mental patients.

The problem, as I see it, is that pot smokers are just way too mellow.
We are not, by nature, Type A human beings. Or, if we are usually Type
A, pot generally reduces us to Type M people. The last thing we want
is to go through a whole political hassle over our pot use. Most of
the kids at the Hemp Fest, for example, seemed more worked up over how
much chicken they got in their burritos than the recent spate of raids
on head shops.

This remains the essential paradox of pot users.

In a certain way, though, a guy like Ashcroft -- which is to say, an
evangelical nutbag -- may be the best ally we could hope for. He seems
determined to truly criminalize pot, not just at the level of growers
and smugglers or big-time dealers, but at the level of everyday
pass-the-nachos users. Which is to say: you and me.

At it stands, most of us casual stoners have been able to light up
without much inconvenience. And, as we all know, inconvenience is the
primary motivating force of American political action.

Thus, Ashcroft's jihad against Reefer Nation may in fact awaken the
silent majority of dope smokers, who might, in turn, force candidates
to address the issue, rather than allowing it to sort of waft around
in a vague Green Party haze.

I should mention here that pot smokers are far more pervasive than
most politicians might imagine. In a recent informal survey, conducted
by means of throwing a party at my house, I was able to determine that
approximately 80 percent of my social peer group gets stoned. (This
same survey proved once and for all that Ben & Jerry's ice cream
tastes best eaten directly from the carton.)

Another startling fact: on a recent trip to an unnamed writers'
conference, I was approached no fewer than 23 times in a single week,
after word got out that I had a small stash of medically necessary
bud.

This may not seem impressive, given that the general view of writers
places us on the same moral plane as pornographers. But I feel
compelled to note that all three of my Republican friends -- who have
actual jobs -- smoke pot. (When I ask them what they think of
Ashcroft, they generally mutter something about tax cuts and hide
behind their bags of Oreos.) My doctor smokes pot. The guy who advises
me on my taxes smokes pot. My squash partners smoke pot. And though I
haven't worked up the nerve to ask her directly, I'm pretty sure my
optometrist smokes pot.

It is my belief, in other words, that there is a vast potential
coalition of us upwardly mobile pot smokers, and that, with a little
organization and follow-through, we could force the legalization issue
to the forefront of political discourse.

Yes, I understand that organization and follow-through are not words
generally associated with potheads. Then again, compassion is not a
word generally associated with conservatism. Or wait. Scratch that.
Here's what I mean: drastic times require drastic measures, individual
liberties are at stake, extremism in the face of tyranny is no vice,
and, uh, I guess, all men are created equal, as well as ... well, you
get the point.