BURNT: MEDICAL USE OF MARIJUANA HAS BEEN LEGAL IN CALIFORNIA SINCE 1996

Lynn and Judy Osburn were preparing for a day of working with their
horses on September 28, 2001, when they heard the deep thump of a
helicopter suddenly shattering the silence of the Ozena Valley.
Sitting in the kitchen of their two-story wood and stucco house, set
back from the only road a quarter-mile or so in a little copse of
pinyon pines deep in the Los Padres National Forest, their hearts
sank. A line of 15 unmarked SUVs and one Ventura County Sheriff's car
pulled up to their horse gate. As the caravan roared up the gravel
drive, their four dogs exploded in furious barking and horses
scattered through the sage scrub in a panic.

The Osburns knew instantly what was going down. Every county and
federal official from Ventura to downtown L.A. knew they grew
marijuana; the Osburns had met with them and discussed it openly.
Somewhere on the property was allegedly a field of 270 tall, stinky
plants about ready to harvest. Lynn, 53, a reserved, confident man
with a brushy mustache and steel blue eyes, and Judy, 50, whose
effervescent smile breaks over skin burnished deep brown by the sun,
gathered themselves. They stepped out of the cabin-style home they'd
built themselves and into the brilliant mountain light, hands high so
no one would have any reason to shoot.

"Their lead investigator told us they didn't want to be there," says
Lynn, sitting at his kitchen table. "They had argued for a long time
with their superiors that this wasn't what they should be doing. They
were very apologetic. It was a very strange occasion."

Under California state law, the Osburns' bumper weed crop was
perfectly legal. They were the state-approved growers for the Los
Angeles Cannabis Resource Center (LACRC), a West Hollywood medical
marijuana co-op operating legally under Prop 215, the Compassionate
Use Act of 1996, which legalizes the use of pot as
physician-prescribed medicine. The dope cultivated by the Osburns
would relieve the symptoms of 960 registered patients in L.A., who
used it to treat the wasting associated with AIDS, chemotherapy
nausea, chronic pain, and glaucoma, among other conditions.

But the agents who poured out of these vehicles, some dressed in
camouflage and many wearing ski masks, weren't bound by state law.
They were mostly L.A.-based agents of the U.S. Drug Enforcement
Administration (DEA). Under the federal Controlled Substances Act, pot
is a Schedule 1 narcotic, which is defined as having "no medicinal
use." Therefore, in the Twilight Zone that is the federal bureaucracy,
medical marijuana doesn't exist. They had a warrant from the U.S.
Attorney's office in L.A.

Since 2001, the Bush Administration - and U.S. Attorney General John
Ashcroft, Drug Czar John Walters, and ex-DEA director Asa Hutchinson,
in particular - have openly defied the sovereignty of California
voters by raiding pot co-ops and making selective arrests of 30
medical pot users and growers. They have gone after the
highest-profile individuals, including many who passed the original
ballot initiative. Some have been sent up on federal prison sentences
as long as 10 years. The Osburns were just such a catch: they had been
the key organizers of Prop 215 support in Ventura County.

"This is their strategy, and I think it's backfiring," says Hilary
McQuie of Americans for Safe Access, a pro-medical marijuana group.
"Every one of these cases is demoralizing to the DEA, and builds up
public sentiment against them."

This new crackdown, which has isolated the DEA from local cops and
splintered local drug task forces across the state, has now made pot
into a conservative issue. President Bush, who campaigned on a
pro-state's rights agenda concerning potentially racist matters like
flying the Confederate flag over the South Carolina statehouse, or
local environmental control, has reversed himself and increased
federal power in order to fight voter-approved marijuana. Medical pot
is legal in some form in nine states, but only California activists
have been the victims of the administration's moral agenda.

The state's rights implications of this assault have now greatly
overshadowed Ashcroft's crowing about the need to prosecute the Drug
War or fight terrorism. An unlikely coalition of staunch conservatives
and outraged liberals have backed two new bills in Congress to address
this conflict.

As Ventura County Sheriffs deputies stood aside, the DEA agents
marched out to the Osburns' weedpatch and pulled up every plant. They
did not draw their guns. They loaded up the huge stack of weed into
their trucks and left. The Osburns weren't arrested, not even
handcuffed. They were left with a simple, evil choice: go without
their medicine, which they both use under prescription to treat
chronic pain, or become criminals by buying on the black market.

"The Bush administration would like to have patients locked away in
prison until they die of whatever disease their doctor recommended the
marijuana for," says Lynn, his anger mounting. "They've never attacked
Prop 215 or any of the laws from the eight other states. The Supreme
Court hasn't overruled it. Instead, they've gone after patients. This
is his so-called 'compassionate conservatism.'"

It would be over a year before any charges would be filed against the
Osburns. But in the fall of 2002, they were busted again for growing
35 plants for medical use, and this time L.A.-based U.S. Attorney
Patrick Fitzgerald threw the book at them, prosecuting for both raids.
Their case goes to trial this fall, where a conviction could mean 40
years in prison, and possibly the forfeiture of their 60-acre ranch.

They're scared, but they're hoping to go all the way to the U.S.
Supreme Court and settle this matter once and for all: are states
truly free to make their own law and police their own population, as
the constitution clearly guarantees? Or does this power rest in the
hands of a few appointed federal chiefs who set the nation's moral
agenda?

State's Rights Abandoned

Unlike George W. Bush, Prop. 215, the Compassionate Use Act of 1996,
did not squeak by at the ballot box. It was approved by a relative
landslide at 55.7 percent. This creates a tremendous conflict for
California Attorney General Bill Lockyer, a Democrat. He voted for 215
because he felt it was humane policy. But he does not favor the
legalization of drugs in general, and more meth labs and remote
marijuana fields have been snagged under his tenure in record numbers.
Now, as the state's top cop, his mandate under 215 puts him in a clash
with the feds, who have busted 40 prescription-carrying medical pot
users and growers since 9/11, and are hustling to give them lengthy
sentences.

The DEA's position is clear. "The DEA does not think that marijuana is
a medicine," explains Special Agent Richard Meyer, information officer
for the DEA in San Francisco. "[In California], there may be some
support for medical marijuana, but the U.S. population as a whole is
against it. We have to uphold federal law."

"Prop. 215 got about 5 million votes," says Hallye Jordan, Lockyer's
press secretary. "That's a huge number. The Attorney General is
frustrated that today we find ourselves embroiled with these types of
fights with the Bush Administration over a wide variety of issues,
where the states are being blocked by federal authorities from
implementing state law."

t's not just pot laws. Jordan points out that the Bush Administration
has also actively blocked state laws regarding consumer protection,
financial privacy, the environment, and gun control. In Oregon, John
Ashcroft has worked feverishly - and openly - to undermine a
voter-approved assisted suicide law.

"What we have right now is not a nation governed by the will of the
people," says Brenda Grantland, an attorney for Judy Osburn. "But one
in which the few elected political leaders decide what the law is. It
doesn't matter what the voters say. It's not a democracy, it's an oligarchy."

When the DEA moved in fall 2002 to bust a Santa Cruz collective known
as the Wo/Men's Alliance for Medical Marijuana (WAMM), regarded as the
most refined model for medical marijuana distribution in the state,
the chief of police in San Jose was so upset he pulled all his
officers off a DEA-led joint task force. Lockyer then fired off a
terse letter to then-DEA chief Asa Hutchinson (now at the Dept. of
Homeland Security). Calling the DEA raids "harassment," Lockyer said
they were "wasteful, unwise, and surprisingly insensitive." Then he
laid out the complaint shared by many in the state and in congress:

"While I am acutely aware that federal law conflicts with California's
on this subject and needs to be reconciled, surely an Administration
with a proper sense of balance, proportion, and respect for states'
rights could and should reconsider the DEA's policy and redirect its
resources to concentrate fully on the priorities we share: the
destruction of criminal narcotics organizations, the interruption of
commerce in drugs far more dangerous than marijuana, and choking the
flow of drug money to terrorists."

Hutchinson, whose DEA once raided a Bay Area pot club on the same day
he made a pro-Drug War in San Francisco, replied to Lockyer's letter.
First, he toed the line of every federal Administration since Nixon,
insisting that marijuana's medical merits are unproven. Then he pulled
out a charge which the DEA repeats today, but for which no evidence
has ever been given, writing that Prop. 215 was "being abused to
facilitate traditional illegal marijuana trafficking and associated
crime."

Hutchinson never met with Lockyer, and the message was unmistakable:
the Bush Administration didn't care what the voters wanted.

Congressman Ron Paul [R-TX], a conservative from Bush's home state,
sees this as a betrayal by the president. Along with Rep. Dana
Rohrabacher [R-CA] from Huntington Beach, he has backed the
newly-renamed State's Rights to Medical Marijuana Act (HR2233), a
version of pro-medical pot legislation that's been introduced by Rep.
Barney Frank (D-MA) every year since the early 1980s. It has never
even moved into committee, much less to a vote. But the state's rights
conflict gives new urgency to the bill, now with 21 sponsors, which
seeks to re-schedule marijuana to include medical use in the U.S.
Controlled Substances Act. This is one of two bills now before
Congress seeking to reconcile the conflict.

"Do states have the right to set their own policies regulating medical
marijuana? For those who still believe states have rights under the
Ninth and Tenth amendments, the answer is clearly yes," Paul said in a
statement. "For too long the federal government has used the 'War on
Drugs' as justification for pre-empting more and more state criminal
and regulatory laws."

Rohrabacher press secretary Aaron Lewis says the congressman, who
chooses not to speak on the issue, agrees. "He simply sees this as a
state's rights issue," he says.

The DEA's Meyer says he welcomes some kind of reconciliation of the
legal impasse. "We are all for that. We hope there is some type of
agreement," he says. "In the meantime, we have to enforce the laws of
the land."

Back to the Black Market

Three weeks after uprooting the LACRC's crop on the Osburn ranch, the
DEA raided the Center itself. In the mid-morning of October 25, about
ten people were on hand to fill prescriptions at the West Hollywood
storefront. Three days a week, the center distributed about six pounds
of pot to its 960 patients. Just like at the Osburns, no one was
arrested in the action. Agents just backed a big truck up to the rear
door and cleared the place out in a matter of hours, taking the weed,
the computers, the patient's medical files, and 400 plants plus lights
and timers from the basement grow room.

West Hollywood City Council members, who had worked hard with the
LACRC in order to work out a system of identity cards for the
patients, and helped purchase the building, stood in the street in
protest. At an unprecedented press conference, members of the council,
the Center, and the L.A. Sheriffs Dept. condemned the DEA for their
actions.

"People relied on this marijuana for relief, and that's a humanistic
problem," said Lynda Castro, West Hollywood station captain for the
L.A. Sheriffs Dept., in an interview after the raid. "The city of West
Hollywood and the community here really took exception to the fact
that the DEA came in against a club that was operating with great integrity."

LACRC President Scott Imler, 44, was present at the raid. A former
school teacher from Santa Cruz, he helped campaign for legalized
medical marijuana there, and helped write Prop. 215 itself. Unlike
many pot clubs in the Bay Area, which found new locations and
re-opened under more clandestine conditions, the LACRC closed
permanently. Soon, the feds began still-ongoing forfeiture proceedings
against the building, which was co-owned by the Center and the city.

"We felt there wouldn't be any charges," says Imler. "They had
convened grand juries in January 2002, and no indictment issued from
that. Then the Osburns chose to replant, I don't know if that had
anything to do with them coming down on us."

In November 2002, the U.S. Attorney offered a plea bargain to Imler, Center
Vice President Jeffrey Farrington, and Treasurer Jeffrey Yablan: accept
guilt for one count of Maintaining a Drug House, the old crackhouse law, or
get charged with that plus manufacturing and RICO conspiracy charges, with
big mandatory sentences.

It couldn't have come at a worse time. Imler, who used pot for years
to control epileptic seizures and spasticity, has now developed cancer
and is undergoing chemotherapy at the time of this writing. Farrington
has glaucoma, and Yablan has AIDS.

So why not go to court and argue that they were operating legally
under state law? This raises the other, almost more infuriating
consequence of the federal refusal to accept medical pot: no mention
of Prop. 215, medical use of pot, or what is called a "medical
necessity" defense is allowed in these cases. This makes medical
marijuana users and growers sitting ducks, as prosecutors use their
openness in complying with the state law against them, producing their
weed, plants, prescriptions, medical records, and distribution
documents as irrefutable proof of guilt. Juries are forced to convict
- - even when it goes against their conscience.

"It's pretty clear that no one's being allowed to raise Prop 215 in
these cases, so basically this meant that we'd be going to jail," says
Imler. "So the three of us swallowed hard, and decided that it was
either go to jail for a long time or take a plea and see if we could
get less time." Sentencing for Farrington and Yablan has been set for
September. Imler's has been delayed due to his treatments.

The block against using Prop 215 in federal court stems from a May
2001 ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court.

In a case involving the Oakland Cannabis Buyer's Cooperative (OCBC),
the nation's high court ruled only that there could be no medical
necessity defense in a case involving marijuana, because pot was not
scheduled as having any medical use under federal law. The court did
not, however, rule 215 unconstitutional. But this ruling made it clear
that any documented medical user would lose in court, and lose badly.

This was Ashcroft's silver bullet. The DEA had been busting people for
years in California, but the confusion over the law made it difficult
to convict as Prop. 215 information invariably ended up before the
jurors. Lockyer's predecessor, Dan Lungren, was less enamored of Prop.
215, and worked with the DEA to keep medical users in the courts,
wrangling endlessly over these questions. But after May, 2001, all
that changed.

Ask Ed

Just exactly what this means for patients who smoke pot became clear
in the recent trial of weed guru Ed Rosenthal, 58. The author of over
a dozen books about dope, and known worldwide for his "Ask Ed" column
in High Times magazine, Rosenthal was growing marijuana as an officer
of the city of Oakland, California. His only profit from the business
came from his books: He was writing about the uses of marijuana's
active ingredient, THC, to alleviate the symptoms of not only cancer
and AIDS, but also multiple sclerosis and depression.

According to city officials, Rosenthal enjoyed the same kind of
immunity as a cop in handling the pot. In February 2002, however, the
DEA seized 3,163 plants at his West Oakland warehouse grow facility.
The high number of plants enabled federal prosecutors to try him under
the "kingpin" law, reserved for major drug dealers. He faced a
possible sentence of 5-to-85 years. His wife, publisher Jane Klein,
and pre-teen daughter were horrified.

In the trial, U.S. District Court Judge Charles Breyer was among the
first to apply the new Supreme Court ruling. Rosenthal's attorneys
were expressly forbidden to present medical marijuana information to
the jurors in any way.

Breyer later said in a statement: "That may not be what the law should
say, but that's what it does say. I'm not congress. I'm not the FDA
[Food and Drug Administration]." The judge then screened 80 potential
jurors until he found a dozen who knew nothing about Prop 215.

Predictably, considering the mountain of evidence, they convicted
Rosenthal. Minutes after the trial, however, there was a jury revolt
as activists and reporters informed the jurors of the consequences of
their verdict. Nine of the twelve jurors later rescinded their guilty
votes and publicly denounced Breyer for withholding
information.

Charles Sackett, the jury foreman in the case, convicted Rosenthal
because he thought he was a drug dealer. He recalls that day, "When I
went out of the jury deliberation room into a public area, a newspaper
reporter asked, 'Did you realize you just overturned the state medical
marijuana law?' No. 'Did your realize this man was deputized by the
County of Oakland and the State of California to grow medical
marijuana?' No.

"I went down 19 floors seething. I was so angry. I almost got in my
car and drove away, then I thought: This is not right. I went back to
the courthouse, to where all the reporters were gathered, and I said
to them, 'I was the jury foreman, do you want to ask me any
questions?'"

By that time, a storm had been unleashed. Sackett told one reporter at
the scene, "Personally, I hope he appeals and wins." The jurors then
organized amongst themselves and began a campaign to affect
Rosenthal's sentencing. They wrote a letter to Judge Breyer asking him
not to send Rosenthal to prison, and protesting the way they were
handled. Similar letters came from Lockyer and members of Congress.

On June 4, Breyer shocked everyone involved in the case by sentencing
Rosenthal to one day on all three of his charges, served concurrently,
then gave him credit for time served. Prosecutors were furious, having
recommended six and a half years. Rosenthal was free, but still a
convicted felon, and under probation. He is appealing.

Other medical marijuana users and growers convicted in the Ninth
Circuit, where Breyer sits, had not fared so well. Bryan Epis, a
Northern California pot club grower, was convicted and sentenced to
ten years in prison because of the same restrictions on entering Prop
215 into evidence. For many, the Rosenthal verdict seemed to be a sign.

Keith Stroup, executive director for the National Organization for the
Reform of Marijuana Laws, said in a statement: "It should send a
strong message to the Bush administration to stop wasting federal
resources arresting and prosecuting medicinal marijuana patients and
their care givers."

Tom Mrozek, spokesperson for the U.S. Attorney's office in L.A., said
he was unable to comment on how the sentence would affect the Osburns
case.

The DEA's Meyer was more forthcoming. "It doesn't make any difference
to us if somebody gets a one-day sentence or a ten-year sentence," he
says. "Our job is to enforce the Controlled Substances Act."

Long Hot Summer

The Rosenthal decision hasn't changed the Osburns' outlook much. Their
trial comes up in October, and meanwhile they endure house arrest
(Judy can travel, with restrictions, Lynn cannot) and the sobering
prospect that they still might lose their ranch.

"We think the DEA will keep going after these cases as long as they
are ordered to from Washington DC, and as long as they get
convictions," the couple wrote via email from their home. "And it
still remains to be seen whether or not the government will appeal
Ed's sentence."

It seems impossible that anything could touch them up in the Ozena
Valley. There's no phone service in this remote corner of Northeast
Ventura county, about 45 miles north of Ojai. To make a call, you have
to drive into Frasier. There's only a U.S. Forest Service ranger
station and a small community of homesteads with, as Judy points out,
"30 registered voters." They do have electric, and a
satellite-delivered email service, a lot of it from their lawyers.

The Osburns keep only two Tennessee Walking horses on the ranch now,
for the sake of morale as much as anything else. The rest of the
horses are boarded down the road and tended by their daughter, Heather
Osburn, 25, who trains them using natural or "resistance free"
horsemanship, which motivates by trust rather than fear. Now the grass
is growing high in the unused corrals, and in the shade of the oaks.
Their two businesses, horse training and publishing - Judy has written
several books about civil forfeiture, and how to beat it - have both
pretty much ground to a halt.

As we stand by the barn, they talk about how they've placed some hope
in the "Truth In Trials Act," HR1717, a new bill introduced into
congress by Rohrabacher and Sam Farr (D-CA). It would allow for the
inclusion of information about Prop 215 and medical marijuana into
federal trials. They also hope it comes up for a vote in time to
affect their case. Judge A. Howard Matz, who is presiding, has already
announced that he is observing the no-215 restrictions.

"So far, every judge in the federal system in this state has toed the
Breyer line," says Lynn. "As long as no one gets a defense, it gets
very hard for the jury to acquit. And they continue to terrorize sick
people that should be protected under state law. Because the United
States Supreme Court has not declared Prop. 215 unconstitutional at
all."

Both Brenda Grantland and the Osburns' trial lawyer, William Panzer,
feel the Osburns will lose their case. But they're leaning into the
appeal. Grantland points out that there are two separate challenges to
federal authority in the case, too technical to go into here, that
might make it interesting to the Supreme Court. Neither lawyer thinks
they're going to get a one-day sentence.

"The Osburns are being treated differently than the other medical
cases," says Panzer. "They're going hard after these people. I suspect
that's because they had a civil forfeiture case against the Osburns
years ago that the U.S. Attorneys lost. So they want to get back at
them."

"A lot of people in elective office got there by being in favor of the
politics of prohibition," says Lynn, nodding, "and these people have
vested interests."