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In the early 1990s, Britain looked up to Germany like a young boy blindly following its smarter and more successful older sibling. Sure, on the surface we were still somewhat hostile and superior towards our then-partners in the European Union. But secretly we marvelled at the prudence of their politicians and their high growth, low inflation economy – and we copied it scrupulously until the economic crisis known as Black Wednesday in 1992. Yet despite our history of discretely duplicating them, I privately hope we won’t be following Germany into legalising weed.
The currently class B drug was in my life for about 10 years, at various intensities – from a tiny bit to really quite a lot. I admit that spending half my adulthood smoking weed and the other half hating on it might cloud my credibility in thick plumes of hypocrisy. But if I’m trying to have my hash cake and eat it too, it’s for a good reason. If I can only convince you of one thing, it’s that the years I spent smoking weed were the most boring, unproductive and unadventurous of my life.
Looking back, I didn’t suspect when I took my first puff that there was any real downside. British culture has never updated its narrative on cannabis beyond the Swinging Sixties. “A bit of puff” is still widely seen as an aid to creativity, a mind-expanding pathway into huge swathes of popular culture: the music of The Beatles and Pink Floyd or the writing of Hunter S Thompson, for example. In excess, it might be a source of fun like the Camberwell carrot of Withnail and I, or a motif of an almost cartoonish weed advocate such as Snoop Dogg.
But we tend to dwell less on the fact that the thing that makes the sticky icky actually sticky might be toxic contaminants like hairspray or butane. We rarely acknowledge that modern forms of weed are of a vastly higher potency than our baby boomer forefathers could have handled. We swerve the proven links between extended cannabis use and psychosis, and bury our heads in the sand when it comes to the slavery and child exploitation that often goes hand in hand with modern selling.
For all these reasons and more, it’s a brave and principled decision (plus a lucrative one) when countries decide to bring marijuana under state control and legalise it – as Holland, Belgium, Canada, several American states and most recently Germany have done. It’s arguably the most sane and responsible choice.
Yet, at the same time, am I the only one who feels there’s something a bit galling about potentially having to spend a lot more time chatting to stoners? In an era when life can already seem flat and submerged in an uneasy torpor, the idea of adding in a drug that makes virtually nothing happen except a glazed insularity seems dangerously uninspiring. There’s nothing rebellious anymore about smoking weed – it’s a concept that’s as outdated as a Cypress Hill CD. In its place is almost the opposite, should weed ever be legalised: a state-sanctioned way to allay rebellion through sheer stoned inactivity.
Those seeking the mind-expanding Sixties dream have a plethora of more interesting drugs to choose from. Those wanting the more relaxing aspects have all manner of CBD products at their disposal. In the middle of those is weed, a drug that over time dramatically loses its ability to provide elation and spark. A drug that becomes to many – myself once included – a sludgy constant, a dreary crutch that inadvertently becomes part of your personality. Worse is the effect that sustained use can have on your relationships with other people. Weed can, quite frankly, make you become a really boring person, especially when the people in your life – partners, friends and family – aren’t as blaze-happy.
There’s also what we used to pejoratively refer to as a “geekiness” about weed – most commonly associated with a slightly righteous, know-it-all male energy. It’s why pretty much all the protagonists of hallmark stoner films, from Cheech and Chong to Harold and Kumar, comprise two guys: one to roll the joints, the other one to tell them they’re doing it all wrong (and share a hilarious anecdote about getting high with some other guy). Back in the day, weed bores would only have the product to be obsessive about. Like an illicit take on Gardeners’ World magazine, stoner bible High Times used to publish a glossy, poster-sized centrefold featuring huge aspirational buds of THC-coated green. But as time has gone on, weed bores have accumulated more paraphernalia than a pharaoh’s tomb, the latest gadget being, of course, vapes.
It might seem absurd to bring this up now, just at a time when – say – a future Labour government might theoretically consider legalisation in the next few years. But all the same, it’s worth asking what place weed actually has in society anymore. Is it a drug of a bygone era? Is there an actual benefit that comes from it featuring in our lives (beyond legitimate medical grounds)? If so, I’d love more people to evangelise for it – beyond the tired idea of cannabis being a counter-cultural identifier.
Take it from someone who’s been there and done that – and slightly regrets the years of dull chats, dull lifestyles and a depressingly dull outlook on life – weed legalisation might make sense but it really isn’t something to get excited about. Quite the opposite.
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