One can see in this case that several of the candidate CPFs are underutilized . This underutilization indicates that these CPFs are not the best candidates for any of the TCs when there are other choices . However, it should be noted these CPFs may still be good candidates when only a limited number of CPF sites are available due to cost or other constraints.In order to evaluate the performance of the solver used to generate the results provided in Figure 12 and Table 14, the program is re-run while the integer constraint is relaxed. The goal is to assess if the same solution would be generated, and determine if performing the optimization without the integer constraint would be more efficient. The integer solution was once again generated using the Matlab function intlinprog and the default settings. The solution without integer constraints was generated using the Matlab function linprog with its default settings. It is noted that while the intlinprog function used a dual simplex algorithm, the linprog function defaulted to an integer-point-legacy algorithm. The results are included in Figure 13 through Figure 15. Figure 13 shows the difference between the number of transactions routed to each potential CPF location when the integer constraint is used, and when the integer constraint is relaxed. From Figure 13 it can be seen that the difference is negligible. The total number of transactions routed is the same using either solver, dry racks for weed if the number is rounded to the nearest integer value. Figure 14 shows the change in the final solution when run without integer constraints as a percentage of the original solutions with integer constraints. The maximum difference for any of the solutions negligible, indicating the solution quality is identical with and without the integer constraint. Finally, Figure 15 shows the percent increase in computational time for the solver without integer constraints over that with integer constraints.

The increase in computational time was typically between 50% and 100%. Given the fact that the solutions were equivalent and the computational time for the solver with integer constraints is less, the solver with integer constraints is used in all of the following analysis. Conventional industrial agriculture in the US displays a number of recognizable characteristics. First, industrial agriculture is capitalist agriculture: commercially oriented and profit motivated. This is especially true for California agriculture, which never witnessed any significant history of family-scale or “yeoman” farming . Second, relations among farms are characterized by competition to increase market share and return-on-investment by lowering costs and increasing productivity. Thus, third, industrial agriculture displays a drive to achieve greater economies of scale through the development and application of technologies in every dimension of production. Prominent among these are: bio-technologies to improve seeds through selective breeding and genetic engineering ; mechanization to reduce labor per unit output, in the field and in processing, storage and distribution ; chemical pesticides to manage insects, weeds, diseases and other pests ; application of organic and especially synthetic fertilizers to augment and replenish soil nutrients ; irrigation in areas of limited or irregular rainfall, drawing on groundwater resources and/or large investments in dams, aqueducts and canals ; and scientific research and development, both publicly and privately funded, to accelerate innovation in all of the above arenas. California has long been at the forefront in all of these technological frontiers, reflecting its unusually diverse, productive, and profitable agricultural sector. Acting together, these traits enable and perpetuate a set of complex dynamics that are widely, if unevenly, evident across the agricultural systems of the US and much of the developed world7 and increasingly evident in the developing world as well .

Market competition in agriculture, as compared with other sectors, tends to be particularly severe due to the large number of farms, their geographical dispersion, limited options for product differentiation, and the perishability of many crops, which inhibits farmers’ ability to choose when to sell. Pronounced consolidation among downstream buyers and processors of farm outputs, especially in recent decades, exacerbates these forces further . And as a primary component of real wages, cheaper consumption goods is structurally advantageous to capital in general. On-farm, the pressure to reduce labor costs is intense, leading to chronic–and often violent–struggles with farm laborers in sectors where mechanization has not made inroads, including large portions of California’s major agricultural regions . Meanwhile, the imperative to invest in the latest technologies to keep up with ever-increasing productivity induces heavy reliance on credit, even as the aggregate result is chronic production surpluses, which depress prices and narrow profit margins further . In the US, the average farm size increased across the 20th century, while midsized farms declined and reliance on off-farm income increased for most farm households . These dynamics give rise to two additional features of industrial agriculture that are particularly relevant to cannabis in California today, as legalization releases producers from the need to hide their operations in remote locations. The first is the tendency toward geographical differentiation, as farmers seek to match the crops they grow to the characteristics of specific places and locations–the soils, hydrology, climatic conditions, water supplies, and access to markets for labor, inputs and outputs, etc .

Differentiation can manifest at various scales depending on biophysical variation, from large regions such as the Corn and Wheat Belts of the Midwest, to micro-regional specialization in California’s Central Coast. With microregional specialization in the cannabis industry comes the potential for product differentiation via branding to enhance demand for products from particular regions . The second relevant feature of industrial agriculture is a chronic tendency, under the pressure of market competition, to over-exploit the ecological resources available at any given site, through extensification and intensification . State processes to govern cannabis production and trade may also create incentives for cannabis farmers to extensify and intensify production to transform the scale, location and environmental impacts of industry dynamics. Until 1996, cannabis production in California occurred outside of legal systems. In 1996, California voters approved the Compassionate Use Act , decriminalizing use and cultivation of cannabis for medical purposes . The State implemented the CUA in 2004 legislation8 but did not thoroughly address cultivation , leaving cities and counties to create and enforce guidelines individually, and thereby, unevenly . Illegal under federal law, production in California remained quasilegal . Federal enforcement efforts to eradicate cannabis production continued throughout this period for California farms, medical and otherwise, though it increasingly prioritized larger grows, especially ecologically-impactful ones on public lands . In 2015, California passed a package of bills comprehensively regulating medical cannabis production, distribution and use, known as the Medical Cannabis Regulation and Safety Act . In 2016, California voters passed the Adult Use of Marijuana Act , which legalized adult recreational use and production of cannabis , and regulation of recreational production began in January 2018. Though cannabis cultivation has a long history in the US , counter cultural migrants initiated more widespread production in the late 1960s . In line with “back-to-the-land” ethics , cultivation in Northern California at that time was primarily small, off-grid, without chemical inputs, and for non-market consumption. After adopting new horticultural techniques, acquiring seeds suited to US latitudes, and building consumer circuits, cultivators began producing more regularly for markets. Prices steadily increased through the early 1980s but spiked with the intensification of governmental eradication programs . Under full-throttle prohibition, higher rewards for cultivation incentivized risk-taking and more intensive, profit-focused, environmentally impactful production practices , such as indoor growing, “trespass” and public land cultivation, vertical farming pros and cons and increased violation of informal community norms around environmental care . Farm siting focused on secrecy to avoid enforcement action, directing cultivation to remote, rural watersheds on both public and private lands where plants were generally grown outdoors and sometimes associated with unpermitted water diversion, native vegetation clearing, pollution from pesticides and herbicides, or trash dumping associated with informal residences for temporary cultivator-guards . These locations, many of which were concentrated on California’s North Coast , overlap with areas of high conservation value, such as forested watersheds that harbor rare or U.S. Endangered Species Act-listed species like coho salmon, steel head trout, and Pacific fisher . Fear of detection placed informal limits on farm size, especially on private property where plants could be tied to owners and property seizure and arrest was a real threat . Further, price inflation due to prohibition also allowed some farmers to experiment with cost and labor intensive, ecologically conscious growing methods, including permacultural, organic, and pesticide-free techniques. Informal self-regulation on private lands also took place during this time, where some farmers abided by local norms surrounding farm size, location, and cultivation techniques to reduce incidence of detection by or conflict with neighbors .

The allowance of medical cannabis cultivation after 1996 affected production dynamics. Legal-medical protections, particularly physician recommendations, made it less risky to cultivate, thus fueling an expansion of the number of cultivators. Collective gardens enabled multiple patients to grow in one site rather than many or for growers to cultivate for multiple patients and distribute through medical dispensaries and collectives, thus increasing garden size. “Reasonable compensation” for medically designated cultivators made medical cultivation economically viable and, for some, made it possible to resist pressures to expand scale. Pressure to produce “medical-grade” cannabis, especially with the growing utilization of quality and safety testing, discouraged use of pesticides and encouraged organic inputs, though agricultural practices were far from uniform . All this said, there was significant mixing between medical and underground market production during this time period . Often, this meant cultivators used medical recommendations to produce large amounts of cannabis, only a portion of which would go to verified patients, thus alleviating pressure to produce medical-grade product. Between 2008-10, garden sizes increased, often to 99 plants, the limit at which federal minimum sentencing guidelines activated–an increase at least partly attributable to the Kelly decision, which struck down California’s efforts to limit plant numbers . Expanded production placed downward pressure on prices, resulting in price instability that only increased between 2012-16. Characterized as a “green rush”, farmers began producing significantly more cannabis in even larger gardens possibly in anticipation of full legalization and relatively less enforcement . For example, between 2012 and 2016 in Humboldt and Mendocino counties, the number of cannabis farms increased by 56%, the number of plants increased by 183%, and the total area under cultivation increased by 91%, with significant expansion happening in environmentally sensitive areas such as those on steep slopes or near creeks with salmon and steel head . These environmental concerns were a primary focus of state cultivation regulations and county ordinances passed since 2015 . In 2015, the state first began targeted regulatory programs of cultivation in Northern California, but comprehensive statewide regulation of production was not implemented until 2018 . Prior to 2018, the first farms seeking to enter a regulated cannabis industry in Northern California remained relatively small, largely due to county ordinances that restricted size . With implementation of adult use regulations in 2018, a statewide licensing program implemented by the California Department of Food and Agriculture opened opportunities for localities to develop cannabis ordinances and welcome–or ban–a new regulated cannabis industry. By early 2019, industrial scale commercial cannabis appears to have arrived in California. A cursory review of cultivation license data from the California Department of Food and Agriculture shows that large-scale operations have already been proposed or initiated in counties representing new frontiers for the cannabis industry . The emergence of these farms may have environmental implications, both directly through their local impacts, and indirectly as competitors for smaller operations on the North Coast. In some respects, cannabis cultivation regulations are substantially stricter than requirements for traditional agriculture. These regulations include mandatory summer water diversion forbearance , extensive site maintenance standards, exclusive use of organic amendments, and mandatory product testing with certified laboratories . Local regulations, such as zoning restrictions, are highly variable in requirements between jurisdictions and likely play a significant role in siting decisions for legal and illicit growers in the state . In traditional cannabis-producing communities, adherence to new production criteria can require overhaul of existing operations, limit new development, and also incentivize non-compliance .

By having a stake in the struggle I am writing about, I am following in a long line of social analysts who present an engaged view of the social problems they study. While taking a normative position on drug policy precludes me from any pretense of “values free” sociology, I do not recuse myself from the goal of presenting as objective a picture as possible of drug policy reform and medical marijuana. I first became conscious that people and organizations were seeking to reform cannabis laws in 1994. At that time, I had no idea that a wider drug policy reform movement existed. I attended a “hemp rally” in Lafayette Park in Washington, D.C. on the fourth of July, and was introduced to a loosely organized group of activists and speakers who had set up tables at the event. Activists were distributing literature, compiling mailing lists and talking to attendees. I was shocked that attendees were openly smoking cannabis within view of the White house. I was also shocked that somewhat formal looking organizations were in attendance. This small act of civil disobedience was remarkable to me for several reasons, it was collective, it was fun and I felt like I was part of something bigger than myself . The police did not arrest anyone, despite the rampant law breaking that was going on. During the event, attendees transformed cannabis smoking from a private act of criminality to a public statement of defiance. This experience opened my eyes to the political dimensions of drug use and to the existence of a collective challenge to drug policy. While attending college at the University of Virginia, how to dry cannabis my consciousness of the political ramifications of drug use and drug policy expanded greatly. I went to National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws meetings and learned about the consequences of drug use and policy from the experiences of several friends.

During the year before I arrived at the school, the DEA had conducted a joint operation with local, state and university police that targeted LSD users on campus. In a series of sting operations, undercover police purchased LSD from several college students. After meeting some of the young men that had been sent to prison and another friend who was arrested for possession of ecstasy, I became increasingly enraged that my otherwise law abiding friends had served prison time for using psychedelic drugs to explore their own consciousnesses. When I attended several Grateful Dead shows in the spring of 1995, I witnessed the DEA’s efforts to arrest people for LSD and read about sting operations in Rolling Stone and the local papers in the cities where the Grateful Dead was playing. The highly criminal status of cannabis, ecstasy, and LSD was a puzzle to me, one that continues to motivate my efforts to understand drug policy and how it changes. As a graduate student in Criminology and Criminal Justice, I joined the Florida State University chapter of NORML. As a member of this active chapter of NORML, I became familiar with the variety of tactics and approaches that drug policy reform organizations use. One area of concern for our chapter was a 1998 law that denied financial aid benefits to college students who had been convicted of drug offenses. One founding member of FSU NORML, Chris Mulligan, went on to found an organization called the Coalition for Higher Education Act Reform that focused exclusively on changing this law. The chapter was very active and had success with outreach. After forming the first NORML chapter at a public university in the state, it helped to found NORML chapters at many other public colleges in the state, including the University of Central Florida, Florida Atlantic University, and the University of South Florida.

Additionally, the Florida State University chapter served as the launching platform for the non-college affiliated chapter, Florida NORML. In 2002, our chapter attempted to pass a city level initiative that would make marijuana law the lowest law enforcement priority in Tallahassee. Similar initiatives have been passed in several other cities across the country. Most notably, Ann Arbor, Michigan was the first city to pass such a measure in 1973. The city of Berkeley, California passed similar measures in 1972 and 1978. Although numerous states passed decriminalization bills in the 1970s, city level initiatives were largely abandoned until the late 1990s, and not used in earnest until the early years of the 2000s. Trying to get such a measure on the ballot in Tallahassee, Florida, however, was an entirely different prospect. Unlike California and Michigan, Florida has been one of the least progressive states with regard to drug policy. Although our group gathered the requisite signatures to get the initiative on the ballot, and worked with an attorney to insure that the initiative would not violate the city’s constitution, the hostile city attorney single-handedly quashed the measure, on the grounds that it violated the city constitution. Our chapter also gathered signatures for a ballot measure that would have made marijuana the lowest law enforcement priority for the city of Tallahassee. Although we obtained the proper number of signatures, the City Attorney quashed the ballot measure on a legal technicality. This was my first experience of the state acting to shut down a legally available avenue to drug policy reform. Despite this setback, our chapter would persevere and have success on other fronts. We organized two campus “hemp rallies” that featured numerous speakers in the marijuana law reform movement, tables staffed by representatives from various organizations, and musicians. One symbolically significant action occurred at a community, “town hall” style meeting, entitled “United We Stand Against Drugs.” The meeting’s organizers presented at as a panel discussion and community forum.

Additionally, it was a recruitment event for the Drug Enforcement Agency and local law enforcement agencies. While it was promoted as a community forum with a panel of experts, it was essentially a well-orchestrated public relations event for law enforcement and the continuation of a prohibitionist approach to drug policy. I became aware of the event after reading a placard touting the event as a D.E.A. recruitment event in the lobby of the School of Criminology and Criminal Justice. I notified several NORML members and about ten of us were able to attend. We dressed well for the event and planned to blend into the crowd, be dutifully polite, and then ask incisive questions that would undermine the positions that were put forth by the panel and its emcees. The event featured both a structured panel discussion with an attendee question and answer session, tables staffed by D.E.A. recruiters, and refreshments. Two local T.V. personalities served as the event’s emcees. The panel was a veritable who’s who of Florida’s drug warriors with two treatment workers thrown in to give the appearance that the fight against drugs wasn’t exclusively law enforcement’s battle. The panel consisted of then-DEA head Asa Hutchinson, Florida’s state drug czar , the Tallahassee Chief of Police, the Leon County Sheriff, and the FSU Chief of Police. Outside the meeting room, several D.E.A. agents were staffing tables featuring promotional displays for the agency and handing out D.E.A. memorabilia including highlighters, flashlight key chains and pens. One table that was put together by the Tallahassee police displayed a city map of Tallahassee featuring red dots to mark each drug related arrest in the city. Not surprisingly, the vast majority of the dots were covering Tallahassee’s racially segregated “Frenchtown” neighborhood on the map. I took some pictures of the display and pointed out the apparent racial disparity in arrest practices to some of my fellow NORML activists. I also noted the apparent racial disparity to the police officer staffing the table. It soon became apparent that our group of well dressed and well scrubbed university students were not there to join the D.E.A. or the police, but to challenge the official line that they sought to present. After we left the T.P.D. table, best way to dry cannabis we visited some of the D.E.A. tables and soon noticed that several suit-wearing individuals were watching and photographing us in a not too clandestine manner. We presumed that these people worked for the D.E.A., but were not dissuaded from going inside the event. After visiting some D.E.A. tables, I noticed that the police had removed the large folding map of the city . It was a made for T.V. event, but I doubt its promoters had any idea what kind of T.V. they were in for prior to our arrival. Inside the well-lit meeting room, the event’s organizers had set up a dais for the panel discussants. The room also featured a video screen, and several staffed T.V. cameras. Our group of activists separated and sat scattered throughout the room. During the panel presentation, the movie screening and the beginning of the question and answer session, we all remained dutifully silent and respectful. Separately, we raised our hands and got in line to ask questions of the panel. When I got my chance to speak I took the microphone from the emcee and began to read severally carefully selected points from a one-page fact sheet produced by the SMO The Sentencing Project. I highlighted the facts that we had the largest prison population of any nation, our punitive drug policy had contributed to the huge prison population, and ethnic minorities accounted for the vast majority of drug violation prisoners. While I was speaking I became very animated and visibly angry. It was very empowering to be able to look the men responsible for carrying out the drug war in the eye, and to decry the many hidden consequences of our drug policy in a public forum.

I was fairly articulate yet animated too. We had infiltrated a carefully orchestrated public relations event organized by various members of the drug control industry and done our best to expose the negative consequences of drug prohibition. This action made for great television and the broadcast was played repeatedly on the local public access channel. By the time we left, we had been photographed numerous times by DEA agents, which we took as indicative of our success. Little did I know at the time, my performance would make me somewhat of a local celebrity. In the months after the event, numerous strangers would stop me in the supermarket and say that they had seen me on T.V. with an approving smile. This action solidified my resolve to challenge drug policy. The cavalier reaction of the panelists to our challenges and the attempt to intimidate us by D.E.A. agents served to strengthen my resolve to continue working for drug policy change. I have organized the dissertation into six chapters and a brief conclusion. Although the six chapters fit together to detail the pre-history and history of medical marijuana in California, they are also intended to be independent analyses of different aspects of drug policy reform. Consequently each chapter uses different theoretical lenses, samples of relevant literature and combinations of research methods to seek answers to diverse research questions. The six chapters link together to first situate my narrative of medical marijuana within the historical contexts of drug prohibition and drug policy reform. In the first three chapters I provide an analysis of drug prohibition, the history of the movement, and the spatial and organizational diffusion of drug policy reform. In the final three chapters, I analyze the medical marijuana movement in California as a case study of the wider movement’s biggest success. A major goal of the dissertation is to provide a social history of both the wider drug policy reform movement and the more focused medical marijuana branch of the movement. To my knowledge, this social history has not been written before, and narrating it with fidelity was both challenging and rewarding. It is my hope that each chapter is able to stand independently from the larger work, but that they are integrated to compose a richly contextualized and detailed narrative. In addition to contributing to the sociology of social movements and the sociology of drugs, providing the social history of the drug policy reform movement is an important product of my research. In chapter one, I seek to provide historical context for my study.