Riverside County Sheriff Chad (El Choppo) Bianco loves to chop marijuana plants. It must make him absolutely giddy to partake of the lowest of the low hanging fruit. Not that he won’t create fruit of his own through preposterous claims as to the size, scope, and dollar value of his busts while taking every opportunity to claim cartel involvement and wildly exaggerated seizures of lethal weapons.
El Choppo rose to power by prevailing over his arch rival, incumbent Sheriff Stan Sniff by just over 13 points in the November 2018 runoff election. Sniff did not go quietly into that good night and claims that his successor is delusional concerning his operational budget which lies somewhere between fabrication and fantasy land. Concerning whatever amount of money that is still on the table, El Choppo is spending it faster than a Mega Millions winner with terminal cancer. He’s ramping up hires of new law enforcement officers to beef up his fear campaign and to staff the new 4,000 bed prison expansion in Indio. So far, so good for El Choppo because the well as of yet has not run dry, and besides, just like any other glory mongering politician, it’s nothing more than Monopoly money to him.
El Choppo managed to enlist the services of the National Guard because 40th U.S. President Ronald Ray Gun, known for infamously announcing that drugs would be nonexistent in America by 1995, acted on this edict by amending the Posse Comitatus Act of 1878, which was designed to limit federal military intervention in local law enforcement issues, in order to allow the Guard to assist in state run marijuana eradication efforts. Overkill perhaps, but there was just too much marijuana for El Choppo to chop all by himself. And the ineptitude of the state’s ever evolving marijuana policy in general was on high display during this modern day police riot that occurred in the Anza Valley on Wednesday June 5th, 2019.
Local growers who took the time to read the State’s initial Adult Use of Marijuana Act (2014) and fast follow up Cannabis Cultivation License Application Overview (2017) took heart when the claim was made that the corporations would be held at bay for a period of five years thus allowing small business’s to gain a foothold before being swallowed up, strangled, and/or otherwise left as road-kill in the ever popular “green rush.” Greed Rush would be a more appropriate term, and it is now raging. The truth be told, it’s all about the corporations, and they are worming their way in everywhere.
With the passage of California’s Proposition 64 in the fall of 2016 calling for complete statewide legalization of marijuana it appeared that the insanity of the aforementioned and now burgeoning “green rush” would finally be put to rest. Nothing could be further from the truth, however. Government overreach has turned what the squares and bible thumpers have always referred to as the “black market” even blacker. The small growers, too poor and too independent to toe the regulatory line, are doing what they always have done. They grow marijuana illegally.
California’s state government is to blame for this most recent muscle flexing, chest pounding fandango of absolute power gone awry. First, because they actually thought that they would get rich in just their second year of operation. Profit projections in excess of $100,000,000 for the first quarter of 2018 fell abysmally short by a whopping 66% when a mere $34,000,000 was actually collected. Apparently the exchange rate for their Monopoly money doesn’t convert to actual cash. Nobody knows for sure what the county’s final price tag will be, but the state fees already in place represent a choke hold on the small grower. Under Prop 64,
there’s a 15 percent statewide excise tax on all cannabis product retail sales. This is in addition to existing general sales (bud, paraphernalia, tee shirts, posters, et cetera) and use tax of 8.5 percent, as well as a $9.25 per ounce cultivation tax for cannabis flowers that growers are supposed to pay. Most dispensaries charge $40 per 1/8th ounce which would make the final cost $49.40, or a 29.5% markup. This all equates to a total price of $395 per ounce, and even when discounted for a volume purchase to $300 an ounce it still pales in comparison to $60 per ounce for “street pot.” Everyone wants their cut in the legal market which is contributing to the blackening of the so- called “black market”. The state and county can get real about their profit projections, or failing that, they can turn their henchmen like El Choppo loose to exact their pound of flesh. No mention has been made as to what he’s already costing the county, but that pigeon will be coming home to roost sure and soon enough, and those now siccing him on the ganja populace will soon be complaining about the price tag that this grass inquisition really entails. What sweet poetic justice it would be if El Choppo simply spent himself into extinction. Local vendors will suffer in the long run, many families are already suffering, and all Anza is really good for in the eyes of this county is property taxes and functioning as a way station upon which to dump released convicts including child molesters.
Secondly, by allowing local jurisdictions such as Unincorporated Riverside County to determine their own fate they loosed a peckerwood vengeance upon the former drug of peace and love known as County Ordinance 925 enacted in July 2015. Now that the county has finally devised a way to get its hand firmly planted in the till, by purposing permitting anticipated to start at $10,000 for a typical R1-5 (5 acre) lot it’s time to find some clients willing to line their coffers. This fee is on top of state fees, which combined would total $20,000 for a 10,000 square foot outdoor grow operation. To date, no permits have been issued. The problem for the small growers is that they quite simply can’t afford the price tag. The death knell is that the county’s proposal will only allow 50 total grow operations. Who do you think will be first in line, and who do you think will be left out in the cold? With El Choppo acting as judge, jury, and executioner, to say nothing of his role as government/corporate errand boy it’s readily apparent what this bloodletting of misery is all about – money. In the immortal words of The Who, “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.” The fact remains that in the final analysis, it’s just marijuana and there are no recorded cases in the history of the entire world of anyone ever dying from using it. To its detractors, I ask: Where are the bodies? Anza and Aguanga frequently make the national news due to deadly explosions of crystal meth labs, and it is a drug, to be sure, that is rotting these communities at their core. But their more well hidden, populated by criminals who actually are dangerous, and don’t make for nearly as splashy a news storey as El Choppo’s scorched earth raid.
Given what’s happening to personal rights on the national level, and the Jeff Session’s scare when he went on record to say “Good people don’t smoke marijuana,” the question must be raised: What would happen if the feds overturned states right’s marijuana legalization and sent marijuana back to the dark ages of national prohibition now in effect since 1937? This is why every user should still support California’s Medical Marijuana Program (MMP) that hardly anyone ever talks about anymore. It’s a good program, their fees have actually been cut in half since 64 passed, and the state does deserve something for supporting compassionate use by waiving it’s taxation for anyone in possession of a medical marijuana card. Between the doctor’s recommendation and MMP’s fees the out-of-pocket expense is usually less than $150. The feds might get recreational users, but it’s doubtful that they would be heartless enough to outlaw compassionate use; so there’s a level of protection for those who seriously need the pain killing and/or epilepsy negating effects of Cannabis sativa, or indicia.
Considering how badly California has botched the rollout of legalization, perhaps it would be better if the federal government did take over and right this listing ship. The federal government could legalize marijuana and charge every individual user an annual use fee of $100 to acquire a federal marijuana card. Conservative estimates count frequent marijuana users at over 30,000,000, which when multiplied by $100, equals 30 billion right out of the gate. $100 is a small price to pay to assure your freedom from police harassment and incarceration. This could be as easy as checking a box on your federal income tax return. This initial economic shot in the arm could fund other green and/or restorative industry such as the “Infrastructure Package” the politicians keep dancing around.
If you don’t like what’s happened before your disbelieving eyes there is something you can do about it. Ban the dispensaries with their overpriced shiny object packaging because their ownership is populated by corporate douche bags who never knew the first thing about weed. Ignore the statements of Harborside Health Center’s (a dispensary) owner Steve DeAngelo claiming all kinds of concern for his medical marijuana patients because he is a long-haired, pig-tailed corporate shill. He, more than anyone else, has raked in the ill-gotten profits of the green rush. And no, despite what DeAngelo claims, no one ever had the stones to tell Quanah Parker to cut his pigtails. Next, contribute to LEAP (Formerly Law Enforcement Against Prohibition that has morphed into Law Enforcement Action Partnership) because they speak the truth concerning America’s War on Drugs and because a cheap publicity seeking cat like El Choppo literally turns their stomachs. Finally, grow your own, because you’re allowed six mature plants that the local jurisdiction can’t overturn. Forget Ordinance 925’s Trojan Horse offering that allows up to 24 plants per legally permitted property because it will be overturned just as soon as the corporations take over, and El Choppo will come a’ chopping. Chop, chop, chop; apparently that’s what really gets him off.
Hard Ass (10/7/2019)
Amongst any team of arresting officers there is always one hard ass who plays a little fast and loose with their legal firearm and assumes omnipotent power in barking out commands, even those that are completely opposite to one another. This hard ass had his pistol pointed directly at my heart as he commanded me to walk towards him, stop, turn, no turn back, no turn around again, get on my knees, and then put my hands on my head. He made sure to grab ample amounts of my hair as he put my hands behind my back and then handcuffed me, hard. As the cuffs bit into my wrists, he pulled me to my feet and dragged me towards this car and then that car apparently deciding upon the one he eventually stuffed me into. I knew not to complain about the cuffs because that is exactly what he wanted, and I had no doubt that to do so would only result in him clamping down even harder. I was determined not to be a fool and give him the satisfaction.
These were all local yokels from Riverside County, and thankfully, no federal agencies were represented. There were fourteen of them; ten men and four woman and most seemed mechanical and completely disinterested. Next to be stuffed into the back seat of the cruiser was my wife who was visibly upset and scared, but fortunately, not handcuffed. The lead investigator took me from the car, lead me into a shaded area, and then read me my Miranda rights before embarking on his questions that seemed casually conversational but were definitely intended to entrap me. To all except two I stated that I did not wish to speak unless there was an attorney present. The two I answered were that my wife had nothing to do with the marijuana grow, and that I was formally a landscape architect in another life. “How did you go from that to this?” he inquired seeming genuinely bewildered. “I just got old,” I replied and then added, “I just couldn’t compete anymore.” That was the truth. He was professional and perhaps just a tad bit too kind in stating that I wasn’t going to go to jail today, nor would be my wife. He then took her for separate questioning as I was put back in the cruiser to watch them descend upon my home and then the inevitable chopping of the crop commenced. It sickened me to my core to see an entire season doomed and know of the hardship that would soon follow.
The lead investigator had me taken from the car and had the hard ass uncuff me. The hard ass said, “Don’t do anything stupid,” which was advice that apparently pleased him very much. I replied, “You got my attention, when you cuffed me. I’m completely nonviolent. I have no intention of doing anything at all.” My submissiveness seemed to relax him as he basked in the warmth of complete control. Again, the others seemed like they could care less. They stopped to have lunch and throw their papers and wrappers, and bottles about my property. Finally, off they went like a conquering Roman army leaving as much scorched earth as legally possible. In truth they could have behaved much worse. They really could have tossed the place but it took less than fifteen minutes to put everything back in order. It was obvious that they were hunting for cash, but none was present and after this, it would be in short supply in the ensuing months as we tried to survive and put this ordeal behind us.
At times like this I would always try mightily to remember that these are human beings: sons and daughters, fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters who have a network of other human beings who care about them and would be heartbroken if anything bad were to happen to them. The political and cultural divisions in America are now stark and frightening. These were, after all, people who simply held an opinion opposite of my own. That didn’t make them bad people, it only made them people who disagreed with me. The only problem was that their opinion was the one that counted, and they had the power to jail me because of it. One thing was certain; I was now officially drummed into retirement. At 68, my will to fight on was gone. We would await the charges from the District Attorney, and sleep was elusive as I stressed nightly over just how bad things could get.
Considering that the recently passed summer was the hottest one on record, it was surprising just how cold the early October nights had become. Everything seemed out of step, discombobulated, and strangely weird. Nothing would ever be the same again. Troubled times had finally come to our heretofore peaceful life. Aside from the legal worries, the one penetrating question that gnawed at the edges of my psyche was: that once this all shook out, what was I going to do with the rest of my life? A week later, the harvest moon glowed brightly high in the sky reminding me that it was time to conduct the harvest; only there was nothing left to harvest. Everything was gone, all gone, and would never be coming back again. Each evening as the harvest moon seemed to radiate even brighter the stark reminder was thrust upon me that it was finally over. There would be no coming back from this. I was done, and would not try again. This enforced retirement brought the numbing reality that, like it or not, resist it or not, my life was winding down. Life now dictated to me. I was not in control of my own destiny, which would be revealed to me soon and sure enough. Depression set in hard and heavy. I was able to conduct basic chores, but my will to do anything beyond the bare minimum was in shambles. I sat dazed in front of the television, watching the Mad King make a mockery of our great nation on the world stage. The speed at which I and my homeland were declining was shocking, sickening, and beyond belief. The harvest moon finally began to wane, the unmistakable symbol that it was all over, the end.
(In some underground circles John is considered a master grower of marijuana and holds as a lifelong goal the desire to see marijuana federally legalized. Nothing else will do. To that end he has two books coming out this year being published by Red Dashboard LLC Publications entitled: More Marijuana Tales and It’s Just Marijuana.)
