Tag: War on drugs

In 1961, President Dwight D. Eisenhower warned the nation of a growing danger:

“In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex.”

He was speaking of the dangerous entanglement between government and defense contractors—an alliance that risked turning war into an economic necessity. But Eisenhower’s words apply just as powerfully to another, quieter behemoth that emerged within our borders over the decades: the enforcement-industrial complex—a system built not on defending national security, but on policing and punishing domestic populations.

This sprawling network of police unions, private prison operators, surveillance companies, drug testing firms, and aligned legislators has, for decades, thrived on one thing: the criminalization of human behavior. Most notably, it has flourished under the banner of the War on Drugs—a campaign that has devastated communities, cost taxpayers billions, and produced little measurable public safety or public health benefit.

And now, in Texas, it’s reasserting itself through Senate Bill 3 (SB 3)—a sweeping ban on consumable hemp-derived THC products like Delta-8, Delta-10, and even hemp-based Delta-9. If passed, SB 3 would not only erase a thriving, consumer-driven industry—it would reignite a failed model of prohibition and control, wrapped in new political packaging.

From the War on Drugs to the Politics of Control

The foundation of America’s modern drug policy was laid during the Nixon administration with the passage of the Controlled Substances Act (CSA) of 1970, which created the federal drug scheduling system still in use today. Despite recommendations from experts to treat cannabis as a low-risk substance, Nixon’s administration deliberately placed it in Schedule I—alongside heroin—declaring it had “no accepted medical use” and a high potential for abuse. This move was not grounded in science, but in politics.

This legal framework helped spawn the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and ushered in a new era of militarized policing, mass incarceration, and stigma-driven policy. SB 3 in Texas is a direct descendant of this legacy: it seeks to criminalize legal, hemp-derived cannabinoids using the same fear-based rhetoric and enforcement-first logic, despite widespread public use, minimal harm data, and clear economic benefit. It represents a return to prohibitionist policymaking—rooted in control, not public health.

The mythos of the War on Drugs has long claimed that harsh penalties and aggressive enforcement were necessary to protect Americans from the scourge of addiction. But internal admissions from key figures have exposed a far different reality.

In a 1994 interview, John Ehrlichman, a top domestic advisor to President Richard Nixon, admitted:

“The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and Black people… By getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and Blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities.”

What Ehrlichman revealed was not policy—it was strategy. Criminalization was weaponized for political ends: to break up organizing power, discredit opposition, and institutionalize social control. The resulting machinery—fueled by fear, racism, and misinformation—continues to operate today under new pretenses.

Texas’s SB 3 is not a break from that legacy. It is an extension of it.

SB 3: The Return of Reefer Madness

SB 3 seeks to criminalize the manufacture, sale, and possession of virtually all hemp-derived cannabinoid products that contain anything beyond CBD or CBG. This includes compounds like Delta-8 THC, which are already regulated under Texas’s existing hemp laws and widely used by veterans, cancer patients, and ordinary Texans seeking relief from anxiety, pain, and insomnia.

Supporters of SB 3 argue that these products pose a danger to youth and public safety. But their evidence is shockingly thin.

During legislative hearings, Allen Police Chief Steve Dye declared that these products are “poisoning our kids.” Yet neither he nor other supporters offered any credible data—no Department of Health reports, no emergency room spikes, no controlled studies. Instead, they relied on anecdotes and sensational headlines.

This kind of rhetoric—unsubstantiated, emotional, and politically convenient—is Reefer Madness reincarnated. And like the original, it obscures far more than it reveals.

The Role of Law Enforcement: Interests Over Integrity

SB 3 has received heavy backing from police associations, prosecutors, and law enforcement lobbyists. That alone should raise questions. Who benefits from the recriminalization of legal products?

The answer is clear: police departments gain new enforcement powers, jail populations grow, drug testing firms profit, and court systems collect more fines and fees. In short, the entire enforcement-industrial complex stands to profit—just as it always has when new crimes are created.

This isn’t public safety policy. It’s institutional self-preservation. It’s prohibition repackaged for 2025.

Medical Marijuana: A Convenient Shield

Proponents of SB 3 often argue that Texans who need cannabis for medical reasons can simply go through the state’s Compassionate Use Program (CUP). On the surface, this seems like a reasonable alternative. But in reality, CUP is inaccessible, inadequate, and deeply monopolistic.

• Only a tiny fraction of Texans qualify under CUP’s narrow medical eligibility list.
• The products are expensive, low in THC, and less effective than widely available hemp alternatives.
• Only three companies currently hold licenses to grow and sell cannabis under CUP—licenses that are extremely valuable and tightly guarded.

If SB 3 passes, it will eliminate hemp-derived alternatives that have helped thousands of Texans manage pain, trauma, and illness—leaving only a state-sanctioned oligopoly to serve a small, privileged market.

This isn’t regulation. It’s market capture.

Two Legal Systems, One Plant

If SB 3 becomes law, Texas will establish two entirely different legal frameworks for the exact same compound:

This isn’t about chemistry. It’s about who profits—and who is punished.

Prohibition 2.0: Greenwashed, Institutionalized, and Still Failing

Eisenhower warned that entrenched interests would distort democracy and hijack public policy for their own ends. The military-industrial complex he named has been joined by a domestic counterpart—one that builds power not through conflict abroad, but through enforcement at home.

SB 3 is not a policy rooted in science or safety. It is a political maneuver designed to restore criminalization, protect monopolies, and entrench a set of institutions that benefit from punishment over care.

The victims—again—will be working-class people, patients, small business owners, and communities of color. The beneficiaries will be those who already hold economic and institutional power.

A Test of Texas Values

At its core, SB 3 is a moral question disguised as a legislative proposal. Do we believe in evidence-based policy, small business freedom, personal autonomy, and the right to choose non-addictive alternatives to pharmaceuticals? Or do we believe in fear-based control, criminal punishment, and economic protectionism?

We cannot continue to criminalize plant-based compounds while ignoring alcohol-related deaths, skyrocketing fentanyl overdoses, and a failing mental health infrastructure. We cannot afford to keep reviving a failed war in the name of protecting people it never protected.

SB 3 must be seen for what it is: a reboot of the War on Drugs, disguised as reform, designed to serve prohibitionists, monopolists, and those politicians who profit from fear.

So let’s call this for what it is—Texas own version of the Deep State. The time to dismantle the enforcement-industrial complex is now. Texans deserve better.