DON'T TREAD ON WEED

Decriminalization Will Piss Some People Off, But It's The Logical Next Step

Like a good number of both infrequent and chronic pot smokers, I could
really give a personal rip about decriminalization. Rare are the weed
rallies that point out the total, terrible truth about being a habitual
stoner: the coughing, the smelly couches, the ability to play Pokemon Ruby
for 82 hours and the simple, but legitimate enjoyment of Freddy Got Fingered.

Just as rare amid the brutes who want us jailed is the admission that we
are the real reason the Gestapo branch of the fuzz wants to stick cameras
on Whyte Ave.

I learned a lesson about how important pot legislation was around 10 p.m.,
May 19, 1992. A group of us were smoking a poorly rolled, filterless reefer
up in the empty nosebleeds at the Coliseum. We were the hub of a wheel of
those who dared smoke the good stuff to help us endure Metallica's
confusingly pro-war Don't Tread on Me (a sign of shit to come). Arranged
around us were three groups of First Nation head bangers doing the same.
Why not?

Tactically, it proved to be a dumb move because, all of a sudden, the
catwalk cops were shining flashlights down on all of us, jogging up and
down the aisles to lance the lawbreakers.

We very slowly got up and walked past the gunners (who wore ties instead of
riot gear back then) and were offered no barrier. It seemed we weren't
going to be on the court docket, and laughed especially hard in our
giddified state about how easily we greased through.

But the story stuck in my mind, and I still feel badly for our aboriginal
cohorts who didn't get away with getting high in a place where no one else
was looking. I wonder where they are now, what indignity was done to them
and if they noticed with disdain us slipping away frictionless.

Since then, I've been "busted" a couple times, always with the same
non-results. U of A's campus security hilariously tried to take away our
pipe, which we bullied them out of. One young municipal patrolman really
gave us the gears behind foul Chinati, saying, "Pretty serious offence:
possession and arson," as we stomped the doobie out in the dirt (that,
apparently, was the arson part). Compare that to walking down Granville in
Vancouver with a lit joint, right past some bike cops who really didn't
care. Nor should they have.

But for those who don't fit the "Get Out of Arrest Free" profile, I vote
for a loosening of the law, just as most other Canadians already do when
polled on the subject. I won't bore you with the usual arguments of how
living room bud is less addictive than barstool cigarettes or how a
fuelled-up pavement gorilla is more likely to hurt someone than to get into
a 45-minute discussion of how good a Tron sequel would be because the
villainous MCP could now take over the Internet.

Indeed, it was there that I read White Houser David Murray's comments.
While the U.S., get this, "doesn't want to tread on another country's
sovereignty," Murray warned there would be "consequences" if Canada
proceeds with its plan to decriminalize possession. "We would have to
respond. We would be forced to respond," Murray rhetoric-ed with intense
eyes, devoid of understanding. That kind of strong language didn't matter
as much in the old days, but who knows now? Emperor Bush II's America has
proven itself to be a rabid, unpredictable badger, ignoring the global
protest of hundreds of millions.

As James Hetfield himself sang at that fateful '92 concert, "You like to
lie so much you believe yourself. Judge not lest ye be judged yourself."
Mind you, it's not like their un-elected ruling class cares even slightly
if they're judged. Really, then, should we?

So I'll see you in the alley, sweetheart, out of sight from the electric
eyes, brought to you by businesses who want you to pay for their security
systems and police who will of course allow free, universal access to tapes
of all instances of brutality. Oh, hell, dude, you got any rollies?