A Message from NORML’s Board Chair Honoring Black History Month

As Chair of the NORML Board of Directors, I am honored—again—to reflect on what Black History Month means to this organization and to the broader cannabis legalization movement. NORML’s work is rooted in consumer rights and personal freedoms, and we recognize the deep, undeniable connection between Black communities and the evolution of cannabis policy in the United States.

Black history is reflected richly and robustly all around us—in art and scholarship, in faith and public service, in invention, entrepreneurship, and community life. NORML is joyfully aware of that fact. Cannabis law reform—no matter how consequential—adds only a small piece to that larger fabric. And yet, within that piece, the contributions of Black Americans have been significant and enduring: in bearing the disproportionate burdens of prohibition, and in insisting—often before it was popular or profitable—that reform must mean more than commercial legalization.

For generations, millions of people of African descent have fought for their lives against the consequences of America’s War on Drugs. As a lifelong New Yorker and a criminal defense attorney, I have seen how marijuana prohibition has operated in practice: not as a neutral public health policy, but as a mechanism of selective enforcement with predictable targets and predictable collateral damage.

The data is not abstract. The ACLU’s analysis of marijuana possession arrests (2010–2018) found that Black people were 3.64 times more likely than white people to be arrested for possession—despite comparable usage rates—and that these disparities persisted across the country, including in states that had legalized. More recent analyses have reported similar findings. 

That reality is why “legalization” cannot be treated as the finish line. Prohibition does not always end; sometimes it changes clothes—shifting from arrests for possession to pretext stops, searches, citations, licensing barriers, and the quiet, lifelong punishment of a record that closes doors long after a case is over. This month, the California Supreme Court reinforced an important principle by holding that “weed crumbs” and otherwise lawful marijuana-related conduct do not supply probable cause for a warrantless vehicle search. That is a civil liberties case on paper—and a daily-life case in communities where “probable cause” has too often functioned as permission. 

Black History Month also reminds us that Black leadership did more than demand entry into the cannabis conversation—it changed the conversation. The movement is sometimes summarized as a campaign to legalize a plant. In practice, many Black advocates and lawmakers forced a more accurate definition: reform as rights, repair, and access.

Within NORML’s own work, we have been strengthened by Black leadership that keeps consumer justice at the center—not as a talking point, but as a practice. NORML Board members Imani Dawson and Professor Beverly I. Moran have spoken directly—under the banner of Black History Month—about the continuing harms of the drug war for Black consumers and communities. 

Black leadership has also built durable institutions that made “equity” harder to ignore. The Minority Cannabis Business Association has helped organize and advocate for a more inclusive, just, and responsible industry—work that is especially critical in markets where access to capital and licensing still too often tracks privilege. 

Just as importantly, Black excellence in cannabis is not limited to policy shops and podiums. It is visible—concretely—in businesses and platforms built under conditions that were not designed for Black success, and in communities that refused to wait for permission. These include people like:  

• Wanda James helped pioneer Black ownership in regulated cannabis through Simply Pure and has been widely recognized as a trailblazing Black woman dispensary owner in Colorado. 
• Hope Wiseman, founder of Mary & Main in Prince George’s County, Maryland, was recognized nationally as the youngest Black woman dispensary owner in the United States—using her platform not only for commerce, but for community education and dismantling stigma.
• Shanel Lindsay, an attorney and entrepreneur, helped author and advocate for Massachusetts’ successful adult-use legalization initiative and later served on the Massachusetts Cannabis Advisory Board. 
• Dr. Roz McCarthy, founder of Minorities for Medical Marijuana and Black Buddha Cannabis, has built an advocacy-and-industry platform focused on education, outreach, and inclusion. 
• Al Harrington, founder and CEO of Viola, has built what the company describes as the largest Black-owned cannabis brand—explicitly linking entrepreneurship to reinvestment and representation in an industry shaped by over-policing of Black communities. And in New York City, leaders like Tosin Ajayi—working through Cannabis NYC on cannabis-related policy and social equity strategy, and tied to NYU’s CannaPolicy work—represent the kind of sophisticated, nuts-and-bolts governance that determines whether equity is real or rhetorical.

This is the connective tissue Black History Month asks us to see: Black Americans did not merely endure cannabis prohibition. They helped expose it, challenge it, and then insisted that reform must be measured by outcomes—by who is still policed, who is still excluded, and who is finally able to participate fully as citizens and stakeholders.

What 2026 is already showing us

This year has reinforced two truths: reform is not self-executing, and backlash is organized.

We are seeing coordinated efforts—some backed by opaque, out-of-state funding—to roll back voter-enacted cannabis laws and to do it through confusion rather than persuasion. In Maine, a campaign to repeal key provisions of the state’s voter-approved legalization framework failed to collect the signatures necessary to qualify for the November 2026 ballot—despite being fueled by out-of-state prohibitionist financing. 

In Massachusetts, officials allowed an anti-legalization ballot initiative to proceed despite claims that some voters were misled during signature gathering—an episode that underscores how fragile progress can become when opponents cannot win on the merits. 

Federal implementation remains uneven, too. For example, congressional appropriations language restricting DOJ interference with state medical cannabis programs does not include Nebraska—despite Nebraska voters’ 2024 decision to legalize medical cannabis—leaving patients and providers more exposed to political gamesmanship and legal uncertainty. 

And the facts continue to cut against fear-based narratives. NORML summarized a new analysis of CDC Youth Risk Behavior Survey data (1991–2023) showing long-term declines in adolescent cannabis use—information lawmakers should use to regulate adult access responsibly without resurrecting criminalization as a proxy for youth protection. 

The standard for success

For NORML, Black History Month is not a branding exercise. It is a standard—a serious one—for whether cannabis reform is reaching the people who were most harmed, and whether the benefits of legalization are distributed fairly.

So, the benchmarks remain clear:

• End arrests for simple possession and other low-level conduct that should never trigger state power in the first place.
• Deliver automatic, meaningful record relief—not relief conditioned on paperwork, fees, or legal sophistication.
• Defend voter-enacted reforms against underhanded rollback campaigns and manufactured moral panics. 
• Make equity concrete through fair licensing, access to capital, and enforceable pathways into legitimate markets for communities disproportionately targeted under prohibition.

In one sentence: cannabis policy should reduce suffering; it should discipline power; it should repair; and it must impart justice. The label is less important than our obligation.

Black history is vast. Cannabis law reform is only one chapter. But it is a chapter in which the legal system can choose—right now—between repeating a record of unequal enforcement or building a framework that supports the ideals of equal rights and justice. 

NORML will continue to press for the latter.

Joseph A. Bondy

Chair, NORML Board of Directors