I would have loved to keep this topic black and white, but I have no choice but to keep it black and blue when it comes to the history of marijuana in America. You know, I close my eyes right now and picture the slaves circling up at Congo square, I can open my ears and hear the woman whispering to each other as the jazz played on, but I can’t help but open my eyes and ears to the prejudices and racist rhetoric that has brought marijuana in American to the point we are at today.
Take a minute, Can you picture the face of the upright, uptight white man as his wife whistles and taps her heels to the vibration she heard only in Storyville (the redlight district in New Orleans)? Can you imagine what the conversation was like among white lawmakers as they counseled together to stop the voodoo music from spreading to other cities like Memphis, Kansas City, and Chicago? Can you envision the black entertainers refusing to wear the black dye; the white entertainers wore