Putting the Grass in Grassroots

Only a stoner would show up late for a 4-20 protest. The stoner is me, and although I’m not high yet, I plan to be. It’s a beautiful fall Saturday afternoon, blue skies, fluffy white clouds. I park, strap on my gun, and strut to the bandstand in downtown Keene, NH.

For the past few days, liberty activists have been gathering here at 4:20PM to protest drug prohibition. I’m worried that I may have missed today’s action because I drove past about fifty people marching down the sidewalk a few blocks away. I honked, they waved. [Aside: If you've ever stood in three feet of snow on a 5 degree night holding a placard, you know to honk. It's a Travolta-straddling-Uma shot straight into our freedom loving hearts.]

Image credit: The Keene Sentinel - A masked man who wouldn't identify himself passes out brownies on Central Square. "Let's just say they're freshly baked," he said.

Approaching the bandstand, I’m delighted to see about fifty people here too. A few anti-drug protesters hold ‘Just Say No!’ signs near the street. A little kid holds one: “Just say no for me!” I laugh. You know you’re doing something right–like garnering national media attention–when the other side comes out to protest your protest. This is what’s it’s all about: trying to convince people, not force them. It’s how we freedom fighters roll.

In the park, four or five guys are drumming. A beautiful woman in a red cape with vivid red lipstick dances. A lone cop stands with his arms crossed, surveying his fiefdom–our freakdom. Signs read: I Am Not a Criminal; Decriminalize Marijuana; Keep Off My Grass; Stop the Prohibition! I greet my friends and fellow activists. I see many new faces, they look like college students. It’s exciting to know we’re reaching out to a wider audience, people who are willing to take a stand. A grand stand at the bandstand. (And I’m not even stoned yet.)

“Rich got arrested,” a friend informs me, referring to fellow Free Stater, Rich Paul, one of the protest’s organizers. I now understand where the other group was heading: Pork Central. I buy a couple of plastic cups of red wine, one for me, one for Hubby. A friend proffers a brownie. “The good stuff?” I ask with a grin as I break off a piece. It’s still warm and gooey in the middle. “Nope,” he says. “Apparently, they want to wait until someone gets busted for selling the sugar-high variety.” It still tastes good.

“We should make a sign that just says ‘arrests,’” I say, gesturing to the anti-drug protesters. “That way, we can stand next to them and it’ll read: Just say no to drug… arrests. And,” I take a sip of wine, keeping an eye on the cop, “if we apply the Tyranny of the Majority rule today, I mean, ‘democracy,’ we win! Drugs, now legal,” I intone as a car honks–beep, beep, beep–from the street, the driver waves from his window in support, it’s a pizza delivery van, “So say,” I toast the retreating car, “we all.”

A hand held radio squawks. The owner raises it to his ear. “Copper is leaving,” he says. Once the cop has driven off–one arrest for the day is enough–we light up, chatting quietly, catching up. After sharing a joint, we head to the police station, a surprisingly large brick building for a town this size, squat and ugly, typical. The merry marching band is gathered outside the back door. Sam Dodson is filming. Ian Freeman from Free Talk Live is working the crowd with his bullhorn. Again, a lone cop–a different one–is stationed off to the side. I wonder what you have to do to get this detail. Can’t be good.

About half an hour later, Rich Paul bounds from the police station wearing a Ron Paul REVOLution t-shirt. The crowd cheers.
“Ron Paul, Rand Paul, Rich Paul,” someone chants.
“The Rich Paul Revolution,” someone else yells. People laugh. It’s good to see our friend.
Two young women with 4-20 written on their cheeks in green and orange hold an American flag over their heads with the words ‘Legalize Freedom’ scrawled across the stars and stripes. A man in a V for Vendetta costume stands next to me.
“Instead of V for Vendetta,” I say to him, “perhaps it should be R for Revenge?” V’s head jerks back. I assume he’s laughing although it’s hard to tell with the mask.

Rich Paul, who lit up earlier in the park, has been released on a $1,000 PR bond. He grabs the bullhorn, thanks the crowd for their support, and gives a rousing Braveheartesque “Freeeeeeeeeeedooooooom!” yell. Later, on Free Talk Live, he will admit how scared he was of putting himself out there, for allowing himself to be arrested for the one thing he had spent his entire life avoiding getting arrested for. He has been given a $420 fine (yes, really!), which he will refuse to pay. This means, if found guilty, he will be incarcerated at a pay-as-you’re-caged rate of $50 per day until the fine is paid off.

Now, forgive me if gunvernment math don’t makey a whole lotta sense to me, but, let’s see: They arrest a man for smoking a plant. They fine this man. This man refuses to pay the fine. They lock him up and make other people pay to keep him in cage… for smoking a plant. Look, I admit it, I’m just a stupid, pot smokin’ criminal (who somehow managed to get a law degree when she was twenty-one–Yo, Doogie!–and holds a masters degree in an entirely different field too), but does this make a lick of sense to you?

Yep, didn’t think so.

Back at the bandstand, we hang out for a while longer, some people are smoking, most aren’t. They are simply here to show their support for the right to choose what to put into your own body. After all, who owns you? When it gets dark, we start to disband. Some folks are heading to a party in Marlborough. Some of us are going for Thai (munchies, anyone?). Others are heading to work, to home, to meet dates, to cook dinner for their kids, to wash laundry, to watch a movie, to smoke a bowl, to live their lives as they see fit… Oops, no wait. Sorry, that one about smoking a bowl just slipped out. Those people are Reefer Mad criminals, who must be caged or killed, who must be forced to conform, dear Citizen, to Big Brother’s bidding because it’s the law of the land.

Well, know what? The time has come for law of the land to change. We say the time has come to take the joint out of the joint, one joint at a time. Joint smokers of the world, unite, and take over!