The Weed War Page 3

  Spencer thinks for a second, then says, "OK, I think people back then weren’t very smart, they just bought into the bubbles because it was trendy, which only exasperated the situation. To make matters worse most of the bubbles were created around things that didn't even have any real value. So, to me Americans were ignorant."

  "Any responses?" Mr. Borinski asks.

  Harley doesn't raise her hand; instead she lays into Zack. "Ignorant, do you even know what that means? If Americans were ignorant because they believed in freedom and liberty, then I'm ignorant too."

  "You are ignorant then," Mark says. "Everyone knows those words were the carrots they used to control the populace."

  Olga takes exception to this. "Actually, it was the end goal, an experiment designed to unleash the human mind." She smiles at Mr. Borinski because those were the words he used when he first introduced the United States of America. At the time she thought he was crazy but now, freedom and liberty are all she can think about. She swirls back toward Mark, "Imagine a world where you could choose your own future, your own destiny."

  Mark laughs, "Ha, ignorant, outdated and not cost effective, is the world you’re talking about. We live in a society where there has to be sacrifice, and not everyone is born with the same aptitude. We learned from the past.”

  Harley fires back, "Under our current system our lives are completely controlled by corporations and you call them ignorant."

  The whole class goes silent; they weren’t accustomed to anyone questioning the current system much less suggesting that the populous was ignorant. They all turn to Mr. Borinski for a reprimand, but he just pauses, looks at each one of their faces and says, "I told you that in our exploration of world history you may find yourselves stretching your perceptions. I would like to continue but..." he pauses for a second looking up at the ceiling and taking in a deep breath, adds "…everyone must agree to a few stipulations."

  Mark raises his hand but blurts out, "What stipulations?"

  "Everyone in this room needs to agree to confidentiality, so we can feel free to have true academic discussion."

  Harley raises her hand and Mr. Borinski nods for her to speak. She says, "Can’t you get fired for allowing that kind of critical thinking?"

  He twirls around landing with one of his hands right on the corner of his desk, leans toward the class and deepens his voice. “I most certainly can, but if you really want to understand the United States, you need to be able to experience true freedom. Inside these four walls we can simulate what it was like to openly question anything you want."

  The room stops, and every one gasps at once. Suddenly, like a back draft the flames of curiosity explode.

  Zack sits up and says, "Count me in."

  "Me too," Olga adds.

  "Hold on." Mr. Borinski gets up and walks over to his desk pulling out the bottom drawer. He pulls out a shoe box and sits it on the table. "We’ll do a silent vote so no one feels influenced by peer pressure." He pulls out a pad of yellow papers and begins to hand them out to each student. "To help keep this anonymous we'll use slashes to vote, one slash will indicate you don't agree with the confidentiality, while two indicates you are willing."

  After only a few minutes, Zack puts the final vote into the box and Mr. Borinski tallies them. "It looks like everyone has voted to continue."

  The class erupts into applause and Mr. Borinski holds up his hands, saying, "Not so loud!" The bell rings and startles him, "Damn, we’re out of time. OK, read the next entry for homework, and we’ll take the quiz with the questions from last class next time as well. Oh yeah, I'm proud of you."

  Chapter 7

  As Mr. Borinski steps up onto the last step of six flights of stairs, he bends down and places his hands on his knees; a voice startles him.

  "Tired, old man?" he hears a young woman say.

  Mr. Borinski looks up to find his younger sister standing in the dark, dirty hallway. "Claire, what are you doing here?"

  She hurries over and helps him up to his door, "Are you OK?"

  "I'm fine." He wipes the sweat from his forehead.

  "Seriously, we’re all worried about you." She puts her arm around him.

  Mr. Borinski 's face becomes stoic and he stares off at the wall. His mind finds itself back at that night, when he stood silent as a RAM guard raped his wife.

  "B... B..."

  He snaps out of it, "I'm fine."

  "Then open the door, and let’s go in and talk."

  He reaches into his over the shoulder bag, opens a flap on the side, and pulls out his keys. His sister sees something that catches her attention. "What is that?"

  "Oh…nothing." Mr. Borinski quickly closes the flap.

  She grabs his arm and pulls him into the apartment. Shutting the door behind them, she turns and whispers, "You have a book! Are you crazy?"

  "It's not that big of deal." He smiles and pulls away as if nothing is wrong.

  "Have you lost your mind? If you get caught with a book you'll lose your job." She follows him across the room.

  "What do I care? My job is insignificant. How can I go to work every day being part of the problem? I mean, we’re the ones that feed them the bullshit. My students deserve more."

  Her jaw opens wide and she gasps. "B, what have you done?"

  He walks across the stark white floor to the cupboard, pulls out two glasses and asks, "Drink?" He opens the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of homemade sun-tea.

  "'B, are you listening to me? What have you done? Tell me you didn't show them the book." She pushes past a long, brown, leather couch and a matching lazy boy.

  "I did, and I handed out a class set." He stands a little taller and pulls his shoulders back puffing out his chest.

  Taken aback, she gasps and crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes roll in the back of her head. She sits down on a bar stool and puts her head down on the counter. "I knew it, you have a death wish. Is that it? Do you want to die?" she says into the ground, shaking her head with disappointment.

  "Don't be so dramatic. I know what I'm doing."

  She swings her head up. "OK genius, why don't you fill me in then."

  "I'm teaching." He smiles and hands her a cup of iced tea.

  "You know the laws. Books have been outlawed for nearly a hundred years. They don't take lightly any form of dissidence. How many teachers have been put to death this year alone for far lesser crimes?"

  "Forty-eight in the greater Americas." He smiles again.

  "See, you do want to die."

  "I would like to read you a quote." He pulls out the book in his bag and opens it to the first blank page. A hand written quote adorned the top of the first page. Mr. Borinski places his finger on the handwriting and begins to read,

  "First they came for the communists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a communist.

  Then they came for the socialists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a socialist.

  Then they came for the trade unionists, and I didn't speak out because I wasn't a trade unionist.

  Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me."

  He stops and smiles, "You see, I’m just preempting the inevitability of them coming for me, and I'm showing my students that in order to change things you have to be willing to make sacrifices.”

  "My God, B, do you realize what you’re doing, what this means? Because, I don't think you do. You'll be considered a terrorist and," she pauses and wipes the new tears from her cheeks. "If it gets bad for you and they come to see you, you can’t see me or mom, ever again, because if you do, they will kill us too, guilt by association."

  "Claire, you worry too much. If enough people know, it will be hard for them to explain away. Plus, one day our ancestors will look back, and no one will be able to say that I sat back and watched my fellow man wither away. No, they will say Mr. Borinski was a man of action." He smiles reaches across the bar and places h
is hand on her cheek. "I was asleep, walking through life with my eyes shut, but now...now I’m awake, look at me." He pulls her face towards his, "I’m no longer asleep, and for the first time since that night, I am happy. Are there some risks? Yes, but frankly I don’t care."

  Chapter 8

  The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale,

  Entry 3

  Two days ago on June 5th, 2017, newly appointed U.S Attorney General, Robert Spinster, issued a warning in a special broadcast. He basically gave a cease and desist order for all states to stop the legal possession and sale of marijuana and any business running under the guise of the new state laws that legalized marijuana. People laughed, and the headline in the Rocky Mountain News reads,

  "Gratefully Dead, No One Respects the Feds"

  My dad had a favorite saying, “You should never poke the sleeping bear.” I'm afraid that's what has happened in this case. I walked around yesterday; all the lines had dwindled down to nothing. The energy that was so abundant is gone, and in its place a heightened sense of paranoia permeates the streets. Grow operations, dispensaries, and marijuana coffee shops have all hired on armed security and cities have their police on high alert.

  At 6:00 A.M. Mountain time, the largest coordinated military raid in our country’s history took place on the streets of every major city in Colorado and Washington. 200,000 National Guard troops were utilized in a preemptive effort to mitigate any unruly responses. That is 50,000 troops more than went into D-day, and just like expected, Denver exploded into riots.

  Martial law for the two states was called into effect by the president at 3:00 pm; I was safe in a dorm of a friend. Despite the one room and two beds, nearly twenty people joined us. We watched videos on YouTube all day. One video showed a National Guard officer tear gassing a non-violent protestor for not moving. Another showed a young woman being beaten with riot batons. It was disgusting and shocking to see things like that happen here in the US. I thought scenes like these only happened in countries that have oppressive totalitarian regimes.

  People from down the hall kept stopping by, and that’s when I met Matthew Mattox. At 6 feet, 7 inches and 250 pounds, his size was commanding, but it was his unbridled confidence and steadfast ideals that first drew me in. I found myself torn between wanting to watch the videos and listening to his discussions. He continually referenced a book called The Emperor Wears No Clothes and had a compelling argument for what got us here in the first place.

  I found myself lost in his hazel eyes, mesmerized by his deep baritone voice, and floating on his words.

  "Dow Chemical Company was one of the main contributors to the anti-marijuana advertising campaign that led to its prohibition," he said with a crooked smile.

  "Why?" the annoying blonde girl next to me asked, while batting her eyelids.

  He fired back, "Money, they make a host of products that use petroleum as the base, including plastics and paper. Hemp, weed's cousin, could be used by small time businessmen to make the same product. Competition..." he smiled, looked deep into my eyes, then continued, "competition, free and unattended, would be too dangerous for those who hold control. So what did they do? They crushed the competition, not by force, but by changing popular opinion.”

  He got up and held out his hand to me. Sitting in the room with ten people and five other girls, he chose me. I grabbed his hand, trying not to look so excited, and followed him out onto the balcony. He closed the door behind us and said, “Hi, I'm Matthew, nice to finally meet you."

  Finally, what did he mean by that? I just giggled and said, "I'm Renee." Could you imagine? The perfect guy and all I can do is giggle, like a school girl. I wasn't sure what was going on, my palms were sweaty, my heart was beating at an accelerated pace, and my knees felt wobbly.

  "Are you OK?" He asked, apparently recognizing my reaction.

  I played it off by blaming the whole martial law incident, but to tell you the truth, at this point, I wasn’t really thinking about martial law, or anything other than the young man in front of me.

  "Why don't you have a seat?" He waved for me to sit down on the patio bench next to him. We talked for hours, about all kinds of things, philosophy, religion, love, and weed. I cried and laughed so hard I nearly pissed my pants on a number of occasions, it was exhilarating.

  One of his buddies came out and told him it was time to go. Matthew leaned across and gave me a giant hug, squeezing me into his massive chest. He whispered into my ear, "Meet me after the protest tomorrow."

  I wasn't planning on going, not after watching all the beatings and tear gassing on the TV, but for Matthew, I think I could make an exception.

  Chapter 9

  Mr. B collects the quiz from his students and writes up on the board, "Human Rights Violations"

  "Can anyone tell me why I wrote this up here?" he asks as he points at the words.

  Olga raises her hand and he calls on her. "The videos that she watched on YouTube showed a number of human rights violations."

  "That’s right. Now, what are human rights violations?" he swirls around and flashes a smile, dropping his chin as he stares at the students from the top of his eyelids.

  Harley didn't wait to be called on. "Any act that takes away from the unalienable rights Jefferson alluded to in his Declaration of Independence." she smiles.

  Mr. Borinski nods at her, and addresses the class. "She is correct, but where did Jefferson procure his thoughts on these rights?"

  Zack pipes in, "John Locke spoke of the natural rights of men to have life, liberty, and property. We discussed it earlier this year when we learned about the philosophers."

  Mr. Borinski nods again. "Would you agree with Locke?"

  Mark blurts out, "No," then smiles as he coyly looks around the room for the customary attention he garners when he makes snide remarks.

  Mr. Borinski, a skilled educator, backhands the question back at him like a return on a tennis court. "OK, Mark, that’s valid, but why?"

  "Why? As I said last class, liberty was just an illusion."

  "How so?" Harley asks.

  "Think about it. Liberty means to have freedom of agency, or the right to make your own choices. At the height of American society the average laborer worked nearly fifty hours a week, and most worked for someone else. I can't remember who it was but someone we learned about this year suggested that working for money is akin to wage slavery. So yeah, they had choices, but their choice was which slave owner they would work for."

  "That’s ridiculous," Olga says. "They didn't have to work if they didn’t want to. It was a choice; therefore they had the liberty to choose."

  "Good point.” Mr. Borinski smiles, steering the conversation back, then asks, "What are the kinds of things that could lead to human rights violations?"

  "Racism,” One boy in the back yells.

  Mr. Borinski writes it up on the board, "OK. More."

  "Sexism," Olga adds.

  "Oppression,” Harley says.

  "Yes, now what kind of feelings leads to these?"

  The class goes silent before Tanya whispers, "Hate."

  "Exactly," Mr. Borinski responds, swirling around, "But what is hate?"

  Harley answers, "To dislike someone or something extremely or passionately."

  “OK, according to that definition, how do you think most people felt about weed?”

  "In Colorado and Washington the majority obviously liked it," Zack answers back.

  "What about those who didn't agree with legalization?"

  "They hated it!" Mark and Zack both blurt out.

  "Why?"

  Mark answers, "According to the nit-wit writing this book," he holds it up, "it's because the advertisers manipulated them to think that way."

  Harley and Olga both look at Mark with big eyes, surprised by his wit.

  "So, this culture of hate was fueled by advertisers, but why?"

  "Why?" Olga smile
s, "Because some big companies were afraid of the competition."

  Mr. Borinski concluded the discussion for the day with, "The bell is going to ring. Please read entry four, and answer the following question.”

  He writes on the board, "How did institutions like private corporations profit from the prohibition of marijuana?"

  Chapter 10

  The Diary of Renee de Garcias, A Weed War Tale

  Entry 4

  As I walked into the park in front of the capitol building, I couldn't believe how many people flooded the area. Some estimates had the number of attendees to be as large as a million people. It was as if the vacuum that sucked out all the energy exploded and now the dust of discontent was permeating every nook and cranny. The chilly morning air gripped my lungs, but my cashmere scarf and my hot cocoa kept the rest of me warm. I made my way through the endless sea of people toward the open amphitheater where Matthew told me to meet him.

  As I approached, it wasn’t hard to pick him out in the crowd. He stood at least a head above everyone around him and his larger than life voice commanded attention. He laughed and howled, throwing his hands around as he spoke. I couldn’t hear what he was saying yet, but it didn't matter. Our eyes met and he smiled as he continued to speak, never taking his eyes off me. After finishing his thought he excused himself and stepped forward to meet me.

  "Hello there," he said, as he picked me up.

  I smiled and looked down at the ground, and said shyly, "Hi."

  "Here, come with me."

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him. The crowed spilt like the Red Sea as his massive shoulders bumped and bruised their way through. When we reached the stage he turned and said, "I'm going to give a speech up there right now. Will you wait here for me?"

  "Yes, of course,” I said, lost in his deep, sunken eyes.

  Right then, someone on stage announced his name. "That’s my cue," he told me.

  I didn’t agree with everything he said, but nearly all his points were dead on. This issue cuts to the fabric of our Constitution and leaves little room for compromise.

  "It's about states’ rights," he yelled, holding up his fist in defiance. The crowd went wild, feeding off his energy. I have to admit I found myself caught up in the frenzy as well, holding up my fist and joining in on the chant. "State rights, state rights…"