THE MEDICAL MARIJUANA MOVEMENT GROWS IN SANTA BARBARA

Emerald Dreams and Smoky Realities

In a small two-bedroom home, nestled anonymously on the upper
Westside of Santa Barbara, the lights are humming right now. Vaguely
Victorian in style with a white picket fence and a well-manicured
front lawn, the home does little to betray the blooming emerald
harvest growing inside its walls. A woman walking her dog passes by
the driveway, urging her four-legged friend to "do your business,"
never giving a second thought to the perpetually drawn window shades
of the back room, the constantly spinning electricity meter humming
in the side yard, or the sweet odor of fresh ganja blowing in the breeze.

On the inside, behind a series of remarkably unlocked doors, several
dozen marijuana plants grow under the warm white glow of two
high-wattage light bulbs. The room is tropical and welcoming, a
meticulously built and cared for growing space complete with COv(2)
generators, fans, high-tech venting, massive air filters, digital
ballasts, and an atmospheric control panel that not only governs the
humidity but also powers an iPod to play smooth jazz when the lights
are off. In a matter of days, this secret garden will yield at least
four pounds of high-grade medicinal cannabis known as "purple
kush"--every gram of it, at least in the eyes of our town's law
enforcement, completely legal while simultaneously being, in the
esteem of the federal government, unfailingly illegal.

Even with its state legality proven by a wall full of photocopied
doctors' recommendations and a notebook filled with legal documents
naming the tenant of the house as the "primary caregiver" for several
medical marijuana patients, standing in the grow room feels
undeniably like an illegal act. After all, we live in a country
that's been culturally conditioned to view cannabis as criminal since
the drug was banned in 1937. Sensing my discomfort, my host patted me
on the back. "I know it takes some getting used to, but try and
relax, man. It's medicine," he smiles, "no different than going to a
Tylenol factory."

Unlike Tylenol, of course, you can't just pick up your daily
marijuana dose at Rite Aid or Vons--though, as of late, it has become
just about that easy for people with a doctor's recommendation. To
that end, after this herb has been dried and properly manicured, it
will be delivered to one of at least 10 medical marijuana
dispensaries within Santa Barbara city limits where it will fetch up
to $20 a gram from patients looking for the purple kush's trademark
high, now famous for its pain-killing powers. And, just like Tylenol
or any prescription medicine, chances are the kush will come in a
traditional pill bottle complete with warning labels and instructions.

Welcome to the 2007 version of reefer madness, where in Santa
Barbara, there are more marijuana markets than Starbucks and
thousands of citizens, with their doctor's approval, are legally
lighting up every day. But with business booming in this
multimillion-dollar cottage industry, law enforcement agencies are
left scratching their heads at how to navigate the unprecedentedly
ambiguous legal haze blurring the lines of what's cool and what's
criminal. What's most cool, though, is that regulations appear to be
on the way, and, surprisingly, they're not coming from the
government: Santa Barbara's marijuana industry is starting to
self-regulate, and for everyone--from growers and sellers, to
patients and police--that should be good news.

A Hazy History

It's been 11 years since California voters bucked a six-decades-old
federal prohibition on marijuana and approved Proposition 215,
effectively making it legal for adults who have a doctor's permission
to grow and use cannabis for medical purposes. Though critics feared
such a vote would open the floodgates for criminal chaos, the result
has been quite the contrary. At first, only a few outposts quietly
opened their doors to dispense the forbidden herb to AIDS patients,
cancer victims, and assorted others. Like a group unsure if the lake
had frozen enough to walk across, these strong-willed activists
treaded lightly, spoke in whispers, and prepared for the worst.

Things took a turn in 2004 with the passage of California Senate Bill
420, which gave slightly more specific protections for patients,
distributors, and doctors who recommend cannabis. That nod from the
state legislature allowed cannabis clubs and marijuana-smoking (and
- -eating) patients to step out of the shadows and onto the ice. From
Eureka to San Diego, literally hundreds of clubs opened and tens of
thousands of Californians got their doctor's permission to toke.
Nearly one dozen other states ratified similar laws, including
Oregon, Colorado, Arizona, Maine, Montana, and, just last month, New Mexico.

Here on the South Coast, only two dispensaries walked on the thin ice
of the pre-2004 era. In nondescript storefronts, operating almost
anonymously behind locked doors and thick security glass, the
Compassion Center and Santa Barbara Patients' Group survived
robberies, public scorn, skeptical landlords, and the ever-present
threat of a federal raid. The guarded hush-hush behavior continued
without incident for years until about two years ago, when Santa
Barbara's medical marijuana dispensaries grew exponentially almost
overnight. That proliferation was further supported last November,
when an overwhelming majority of Santa Barbara voters passed Measure
P, making adult use of marijuana--both medical and non-medical--the
lowest law enforcement priority. Today, there are 10 fully
functioning dispensaries within city limits, plus a couple more in
the planning stages (including the first one ever in Goleta due next
month). For a relatively small town, the amount impresses everyone in
the trade.

While certainly aware of them, spokespeople from every local law
enforcement agency admitted to some sticker shock when informed of
the recent rise in clubs. Most were not aware the number had grown
past the initial two, let alone increased five-fold in less than 20
months. As S.B. County District Attorney Christie Stanley remarked
upon hearing the news, "You're kidding me? Wow, that's something I
didn't know."

In fact, not knowing is exactly the problem for everyone involved,
due to the murky nature of medical marijuana's legality. Because
Senate Bill 420 is in direct opposition to federal law, Sacramento
was reluctant to fill it with the teeth of regulations and bite of
enforcement they would normally assign to such landmark legislation.
As a result, the system is devoid of checks and balances and even
lacks a unilateral understanding of what the law means. For example,
in Santa Barbara, the only hurdle a would-be dispensary needs to
clear in order to open is the simple act of securing a business
license from the city. There are absolutely no other obstacles in the
way, which, for a federally illegal drug, tends to raise some eyebrows.

"It's such a grey area," Santa Barbara police spokesperson Paul
McCaffrey said recently. "Basically [with the right paperwork], you
can get a bunch of marijuana--or start growing it--and then sell it
as medical marijuana. As appalling as it seems, you are essentially
untouchable to us. ... It's not just a reality, but also state law."

The Santa Barbara County Sheriff's Department takes a slightly more
aggressive stance and, as a result, only one dispensary currently
exists in its contracted communities--though at least two other clubs
are looking to open soon in the North County. Spokesperson Erik Raney
explained last month, "It is very frustrating from the law
enforcement side because we are forced to decipher the law and the
law itself is not very clear at all." Though deputies regularly let
people go who can prove they are "legal" cannabis consumers, Raney
guaranteed "debatable" infractions were always investigated and
usually led to an initial arrest, though not always actual charges.
District Attorney Stanley could recall only two instances of such
prosecution in the past 11 years: one was a Buellton club that was
shut in 2006 (but has since reopened) and the other was a woman who
was growing "too much" medical marijuana (though she was allowed to
keep the 70-plus plants for which she had proper paperwork).

Clearing the Smoke

Confused? You're not alone. "From a legal standpoint, it is an
absolutely fascinating problem," said esteemed Santa Barbara attorney
Joe Allen. "The unregulated nature of all this leaves everybody--the
police, club owners, patients, and caregivers--very uncertain about
what they are allowed to be doing." In recent years, Allen, who's
held just about every legal title in his career except judge, has
become a de facto expert on medical marijuana. Not only is he kept on
retainer for several clubs, but he's also the legal advisor for the
city's Measure P Committee and has successfully defended Goleta
physician and outspoken medical cannabis advocate Dr. David Bearman,
who was attacked by the Medical Board of California (MBC) for
prescribing marijuana.

"The boundaries of protection are so fuzzy that it is very, very hard
to even know when you are crossing those boundaries," explained
Allen. "Can a thousand patients band together and start a cannabis
plantation in Santa Ynez? Probably, but who knows? Unfortunately,
because no real regulations exist, the only vehicle by which we work
this out is: People get arrested and have to go to court." So would
regulations or a dispensary review board help? "Absolutely," said
Allen. "City or county standards would go a long way in clearing up
many of these issues."

What is legal? According to Senate Bill 420, Californians with a
doctor's approval can carry as much as a half-pound (eight ounces) of
marijuana and grow as many as six mature plants. That's pretty
clear-cut, but the situation hazes over with the role of
"caregivers," those assigned by patients to grow and provide their
medicine. When patients join a cannabis club, they sign paperwork
that establishes the club as their caregiver, allowing the dispensary
to grow and possess marijuana in their name. So a club with 1,000
members could have as many as 500 pounds and grow 6,000 plants. But
since there's no oversight whatsoever, the formula is ripe for
exploitation and constantly flirts with criminal status.

Though assuring she would "never get in the way of compassionate
use," the situation is disconcerting for District Attorney Stanley.
"Crimes are being committed around it and people are just shrugging
their shoulders," she said. "It certainly isn't the way we usually do
business." She also added that, to her knowledge, nothing was being
done by the government to clear the regulatory haze.

The irony in all this is that three months ago, somebody did start to
do something--and it wasn't the DA, the cops, the county supervisors,
or the City Council. It was the club owners themselves. And they've
got good reason to regulate, for as one anonymous dispensary owner
complained, "Right now, in this town, people are looking to exploit
the law and take advantage of it. There's no doubt about it, and no
doubt they will ruin it for the thousands of us who are doing things
the right way."

Acting at the behest of medical marijuana lobbying group Americans
for Safe Access (ASA), representatives from all but one of the S.B.
clubs began meeting on a monthly basis in order to, as ASA organizer
Chris Fusco put it, "get to know one another and to try to establish
a standard of care for Santa Barbara." With moratoriums on
dispensaries already in place in Carpinteria and Solvang, Fusco said
it is "really just a matter of time" until Santa Barbara does the
same. But while the Carp and Solvang moratoriums are what Fusco calls
"wolves in sheep's clothing" since those towns have never had
dispensaries, he thinks an S.B. moratorium would be temporary and
allow the city to establish standards for clubs.

Heading off such a move at the pass, ASA is helping dispensaries to
establish uniform ways of labeling medicine, verifying doctor's
notes, and registering patients. "These may seem like really basic
things," said Fusco, "but the reality is no one else is going through
and making sure every club is doing them." The hope is this early
intervention will make fringe clubs clean up their acts while
simultaneously streamlining the regulatory process when the city and
county decide to tackle it.

Fusco enthusiastically explained, "The end result in this, for
everybody, is regulations and a higher standard of care." The club
owners seem to be onboard, as one explained last month, "To be one of
the people who helped set the regulations and the precedent for Santa
Barbara? That would be a great honor."

In the meantime, it's business as usual seven days a week for the
existing clubs, which have sprouted up everywhere, from Milpas and
Haley streets to upper State Street. They run the full spectrum of
incarnations: Some feel about one-degree removed from a De la Guerra
Plaza drug deal while others provide laminated menus, 30-plus
varieties of marijuana, dozens of hashes and hash oils, assorted
THC-laced candies, cookies, and ice cream, and knowledgeable staffs
who are able to recommend specific strains of cannabis for particular
ailments. Some have security, others don't; some let you smoke on the
property, others don't; and some are run as co-ops, while others seem
to be enjoying the economic fruits of a successful business. While
there's absolutely no way to count the county's medical marijuana
patients, most clubs surveyed claim memberships well over 2,000, with
some boasting more than 5,000 patients.

Despite these tallies, the county health department's voluntary
medical marijuana identification card program--in place solely to
protect patients from the police--only has 348 patients and 49
caregivers enrolled. Attorney Joe Allen chalked up this discrepancy
to patients' overriding fear they'll be placed on some list and left
exposed to future federal prosecution. But Allen, perhaps our
county's foremost legal expert on the matter, wholeheartedly
recommends the county card because, as he explained, "It's all about
being upfront and following what law there is. The card will only help."

Being Up Front

The doors are usually wide open at Hortipharm Caregivers, allowing
passersby on the 3500 block of State Street a glimpse of its smart,
remodeled interior complete with hardwood floors, a flat-screen TV,
and a glass-backed waterfall. The dispensary--Santa Barbara's third
club when it opened on Calle Laureles in 2005--just celebrated the
first anniversary of its State Street location. Nestled among
restaurants, a coffee shop, and a massage parlor, the building is
both anonymous and inviting.

It's early afternoon, and three patients are in the waiting room
while another four are in the "green room," inspecting various
strains of cannabis. In a back office, flanked by a massive Executive
Safe, the club's owner Josh Braun leaned back in his chair. "Most
days when I come to work it feels like heaven," he explained,
squinting through the smoke of a recently exhaled bong hit. "But
other days are absolute hell."

At 30 years old, clean-cut with full sleeve of detailed tattoos on
his left arm, and married with a kid and another on the way, Braun is
the epitome of the emerging 21st-century Southern California
businessman: gregarious, well-spoken, intelligent, and just the right
amount of cocky. He's proud of the business he's built and he should
be--in 2006, Hortipharm grossed more than $3 million, provided
medicine to nearly 4,000 patients, and employed 14 people, all paid
decent wages plus full benefits and vacation packages. "I have two
priorities in life," explained Braun. "To provide food and shelter
for my family and to provide care and medicine for my patients."
Given his background, you can't help but believe him. The Santa
Barbara native was raised in a devoutly Christian home, majored at
UCSB in accounting and economics, and served in the Marine Corps.

But not all was peachy. Dually diagnosed with Attention Deficit
Disorder (ADD) and anxiety, Braun spent years of his life on
prescriptions of Adderall, Xanax, and Dexatrin. Admitting he was no
saint in his youth, Braun believes his life seemed destined for
something far darker than it is today were it not for the medicinal
powers of cannabis. He explained, "My life is only here today because
of marijuana."

Friends of his haven't been so lucky. Montecito native Paul
Hindaling, who also suffered from ADD and anxiety, rode prescription
pills to a tragic death via overdose in 2005. That death, coupled
with the passing of Braun's father-in-law from prescription
narcotics, cemented his faith in medical marijuana. After a trip to
Amsterdam--the home of modern marijuana innovation--Braun saw the
light and began learning about the myriad medicinal uses of cannabis
throughout the millennia. He spoke at length about marijuana's
healing role in just about every civilization since the dawn of
humankind and how charred cannabis seeds can be found in many of the
world's oldest archeological sites. From there, he switched gears to
talk about technological innovations in cloning and how today's
medicine is the most potent and powerful yet. "I may not have much
formal training in healthcare," Braum claimed, "but I know more about
marijuana than just about anybody walking this world."

But none of his well-supported beliefs change the fact that, as he
admitted, "The feds could kick in my door at any time." If they did,
Braun potentially could go to jail for the rest of his life. He
grimaced when I asked him about the federal raids of cannabis clubs
in West Hollywood earlier this year and the raid of a club in Morro
Bay just two days before our interview. But he takes solace in the
fact that no one involved with the 11 clubs in West Hollywood have
been charged with a crime yet and that most of the clubs have since
re-opened. As for the Morro Bay bust, Braun simply shook his head and
said, "It makes me nauseous to think about it." (After learning the
Morro Bay raid came after a security guard allegedly sold a
half-pound to an undercover officer outside of the dispensary, Braun
responded, "If it's true, then it's illegal. If someone worked for me
and did that then--no questions asked--they'd be fired.")

If you look at a map of California, it doesn't take a genius to
notice that Santa Barbara is smack dab between West Hollywood and
Morro Bay, which begs the question: When might the feds come to our
town? Word on the street is they already did a couple years ago, but
were kindly told "thanks, but no thanks" by local authorities. Though
they are under no legal onus to do so, the feds don't like doing
busts where local law enforcement isn't supportive. Nonetheless, this
stressful question made Braun begrudgingly admit, "I wish I could do
this forever but I don't really see it happening that way."

As for the Santa Barbara authorities, Braun happily reported the
sheriff, city police, narcotics detectives, and even Mayor Marty Blum
have all been in his store. The visits don't bother him--in fact, he
practically encourages them. "I'm not scared because I'm not doing
anything illegal," he said. "I follow rules that don't even exist
yet." He pays taxes, keeps extensive records, and fleshes out his
books as any econ grad would. Furthermore, his team of lawyers--which
includes Joe Allen--will even defend patients of Hortipharm should
they run into trouble with the law, so long as they aren't exploiting
their doctor's notes.

To Braun, the big issue facing everyone involved is regulation. Like
the legal toddler it is, the movement needs direction and guidance.
"We need to make the right choices," he explained. "And it would be
really great if the city would regulate and help us with those choices."

A Matter of Medicine

Perhaps the most convoluted layer of ambiguity is the role doctors
play in the medical marijuana equation. After all, without a written
recommendation, none of this would be possible. And given the
proliferation of clubs statewide, it's obvious more physicians are
approving medical marijuana consumption for a broader spectrum of reasons.

That's "disturbing" to both District Attorney Stanley and Santa
Barbara Sheriff's Department spokesperson Raney. To them, Prop 215
was a last-ditch medical avenue designed for the most severely ill,
such as cancer and AIDS patients. So when detectives report
"perfectly healthy" young people frequenting dispensaries, they can't
help but be wary. "It certainly calls into question the doctors who
are prescribing," said Raney. "Clearly there are some arbitrary
decisions being made and people who aren't terminally ill are getting
prescriptions."

Of course, one needn't be terminally ill--or even visibly
distressed--to legally smoke marijuana. Prop 215 gives physicians
carte blanche to approve ganja consumption for "any illness for which
cannabis provides relief." While the Food and Drug Administration
still claims marijuana has no proven medicinal values--a stance often
cited by law enforcement--extensive clinical trials in Europe and
Canada (and, increasingly, California) have shown strong evidence of
cannabis's ability to help people suffering from, among other things,
lupus, insomnia, multiple sclerosis, Alzheimer's, ADD, anxiety,
migraines, chronic pain, depression, hypertension, arthritis, and
anxiety. And since the MBC set official standards in 2004 on medical
marijuana recommendation writing that are "the same as any reasonable
and prudent physician would follow when recommending or approving any
other medication," doctors really are free--no matter what law
enforcement thinks--to recommend marijuana exactly as they would
prescribe painkillers or antibiotics. That leaves the medical
marijuana movement squarely in the hands of the physicians. Braun of
Hortipharm explained, "No matter what, the success of any legally
operating dispensary is really at the discretion of the doctors."

Perhaps one of California's most outspoken advocates is Goleta
physician Dr. Bearman. Bearman, who wrote his first medical marijuana
recommendation in April 2000 but refuses to reveal just how many he
has written, is one of just four South Coast doctors who actively
write recommendations. "At least 50 other doctors in town
specifically tell their patients to come to me if they feel [medical
marijuana] is appropriate simply because [those doctors] aren't
comfortable doing it themselves," Bearman explained. He scoffs at the
idea of law enforcement questioning who deserves a cannabis
recommendation. "How can they tell somebody doesn't have a
significant medical problem just by looking at them?"

It's a rhetorical question that particularly burns Bearman: In 2003,
the MBC came after Bearman for the alleged "indiscriminate"
recommendation of medical marijuana to a patient. That attack was
triggered by a Lake Piru park ranger, who arrested a young man with a
Bearman recommendation. The ranger, feeling the recommendation was
unethical, formally complained to the MBC. Both the patient and
Bearman refused to cooperate, citing doctor-patient confidentiality,
so the matter hit the courts. Three years later, the charges against
Bearman were sternly dismissed by a Los Angeles Superior Court that
said the MBC "failed to show good cause," a decision that medical
marijuana supporters saw as a warning against similar witch hunts in
the future. To date, the MBC has, with varied results, gone after 20
cannabis-approving physicians since the 1996 inception of Prop 215.

His vindication aside, Bearman acknowledged ethical debates will
continue to rage as long as regulations remain absent. There are
plenty of situations--though not necessarily illegal--that make
Bearman shake his head, such as the doctors who come to town, team up
with a dispensary, and conduct one-day recommendation blitzes where
dozens of patients get certified in a hotel room for about $150 a
pop. Then there are places in Los Angeles and San Francisco where
doctors cater specifically to marijuana-minded clientele. These
places are often advertised in newspapers, function as walk-in
clinics, and tend to be packed to the gills.

Bearman, whose practice is traditionally conservative by comparison,
calls these practices "detrimental" to the cause, though he also
agrees with his attorney Joe Allen, who said, "You can't legislate
morality." Nonetheless, Bearman knows that until the MBC establishes
different language about the standards of practice for medical
marijuana, such obviously rogue operations will continue to thrive,
living happily in the grey haze of ambiguity. "Everyone knows it; we
need regulations," said Bearman, adding with a smile, "I would love
to see the day when cannabis is available at Rite Aid."

Cashed Out

Billy Adams (not his real name) has been selling marijuana in Santa
Barbara for more than a decade. But due to the proliferation of
dispensaries, Adams is effectively out of business these days.
Approaching 30 and with children, Adams has mixed feelings about
medical marijuana even though he himself, for the past two years, has
been growing exclusively for Santa Barbara clubs and all but phased
out his black market dealings. As he sees it, "The whole legal thing
is sort of bullshit. I mean, the feds can still put you in jail
forever. Plus, the people I deal with are the same faces I was
dealing with 12 years ago but now, because of Senate Bill 420, they
are supposedly legit. I can totally see why cops are bummed." Despite
that, Adams says that "without a doubt" it's harder for people to get
their hands on marijuana these days because dealers like him have
turned to the clubs. "It's just not out there as much as it used to
be," he said. "Actually, it's still around--it's just going to the
clubs instead of the streets."

While law enforcement doesn't share Adams's opinions--S.B. Sheriff's
Department spokesperson Raney called marijuana "still just about the
number-one illegal substance that people possess"--it does reveal
that the success of medical marijuana isn't just a victory for the
patients who need it. There are millions of dollars swirling around
the cannabis plant.

In a study released last December by conservative public policy
analyst Jon Gettman, the annual domestic marijuana harvest was
estimated to be about $35.8 billion, making it hands-down the
number-one cash crop in America. With around $13.8 billion of that
believed to be grown on California soil, it's an industry that's
rooted and fully blooming in the Golden State. However, most of this
money goes untaxed and untracked at both the state and federal
levels. While the feds just recently, despite their anti-medical
marijuana position, created a tax bracket for the industry, it is
safe to say the opportunity for income must be something the big-wig
bean counters are looking into.

With this in mind, a longtime grower from Mendocino, who's been
supplying marijuana to Santa Barbara and many other areas south of
Point Conception since the 1960s, made an observation recently that
perhaps sums up everything currently happening with medical
marijuana: "Make no mistake: This is a golden age we are living in.
One way or the other, the door will be slammed shut on this within
five years. I guarantee it. I don't know if it will be federal
regulation and taxing, total legalization, or a change back to how
things used to be, but it's going to change. It has to."