Howard Marks' Book of Dope Stories (40 page)

In response I told the court how smoking cannabis had given my son, who suffered from leukaemia, extraordinarily effective relief from the pernicious nausea and vomiting caused by some cancer chemotherapies. As someone from the American Embassy later said, ‘You could hear a pin drop in that courtroom.’ As I spoke, the prosecutor began to shuffle and rustle papers intrusively. The judge, who was obviously deeply interested in my story, raised his voice and said, ‘Mr. Alim, are you listening to Dr. Grinspoon? Are you getting this? Do you want him to start from the beginning?’ Alim stopped shuffling papers. When I finished he pursued a few more questions, and abruptly stopped, although he had only asked about two-thirds of the questions on his list. He then conferred with some other government people, one of whom was in uniform. It seemed clear that they were deciding whether to arrest me. Finally he told the judge that he had concluded his cross-examination, and the court was dismissed.

We were fairly sure that, given his comments during the crosse-examination, the judge would not sentence Kerry to death. We also believed that Alim had decided not to arrest me because the publicity might damage his case even further. However, as we were preparing to leave the courtroom, Allen Kong, legal counsel to the American Embassy, told Shafee and me that I was not out of danger yet, that Alim (the government) might arrest me at Subang airport that night as I left Kuala Lumpur. He gave me a telephone number where he could be reached at the time of my departure. That evening Shafee accompanied me to the airport, where he obtained an airport security badge and walked me through customs and immigration, never leaving my side until the door to the airplane was closed.

The judge issued his ruling on January 17,1991. He said that ‘on the balance of probabilities there was enough evidence adduced from the accused to show that the cannabis was for his own consumption’ – specifically, ‘to relieve pain from injuries he suffered in a fall off a mountain.’ He was sentenced to five years in jail, of which twenty-six months remained to be served, and, as a mandatory part of the sentence, ten strokes of the rattan. The cane used in Malaysia is particularly cruel and burdens the recipient with some motion limitation and pain for the rest of his life. The sentence will be appealed, and if it fails, Ramsey Clark and I will explore the possibility of a pardon.

‘A brief account of my participation as a witness in the trial of Kerry Wiley’, 1991

Joseph de Maistre

454 US 370, 70 L Ed 2d 556,102 S Ct 703 [No. 81–23]

Decided January 11, 1982.

Decision:
Sentence of two consecutive 20-year prison terms and two fines of $10,000 for convictions of possession and distribution of 9 ounces of marijuana, held not to constitute cruel and unusual punishment under Eighth Amendment.

Robert Louis Stevenson

‘We have recently heard much about the crime-fighting concept of zero tolerance. Zero tolerance cannot be applied selectively. All minor offences must be punished. Being found in possession of a quantity of drugs should be treated as a serious offence, irrespective of whether it is a small quantity or a first-time offence. If individuals fear being caught with drugs, they are less likely to purchase them, thus hitting the dealers. However, the system currently in operation does not punish possession – that is wrong. I propose a system of zero tolerance for drug abusers, which would mean that those found in possession of an illegal substance would be given an automatic gaol sentence. If I thought that it was remotely possible, I would advocate the death penalty for those in
possession
of drugs. That works in Singapore and Malaysia, so why not here?’

House of Commons Hansard Debates for January 17th, 1997

Thomas Babington Macaulay

M
Y FRIEND
M
ELKON
Melkonian was arrested and held in San Francisco County Jail, charged with sale and possession of marijuana, a year ago last January. He was having trouble raising the high bail set by the judge and had to stay in jail from January until April before friends put up the bond. I was asked to co-sign for his bond since I was a property owner in Marin County.

Several of us heard we might help his case by signing affidavits attesting to the harmless effects of marijuana and were told to meet in his lawyer’s office. There were about twenty-five others waiting there when I arrived. Mrs. Molly Minudri, the lawyer, told us we could not be arrested for supplying the affidavits but that we might have to be ‘cooler’ about using marijuana.

Because there were so many of us, we had to take the affidavit blanks home and fill them in ourselves. I got high, wrote out the affidavit, and delivered it to Mrs. Minudri on September 27. In the affidavit I wrote:

Another of the teachers at my school, Jeff, also wrote an affidavit stating that to his knowledge marijuana is harmless, but he didn’t ‘cop out’ – say that he had used it.

I continued teaching school and thought no more of it. I was the teaching-principal of a three-teacher public school in Marin County, in the small unincorporated village of Nicasio. In our school we have a total of forty-seven children in grades one through eight, though it is really an upgraded school – we teach the children according to what and when they can learn.

Melkon’s case came up in court on October 6. Surprisingly, the attorney handed the judge forty-six affidavits from all kinds of lay and professional people. At the time it never occurred to me that my signed affidavit was anything more than a helpful gesture for Melkon.

On the afternoon of the trial a reporter from the
San Francisco Chronicle
called me at school to tell me that the trial and my affidavit were front-page news. He wanted to get all the details straight. I was rather flabbergasted. It was ten minutes before dismissal time, so I said I would go home and call back immediately. I told Jeff this and he said, ‘Go home at once, this may be something big. I’ll lock up for you.’

Court had dismissed after 2.00 p.m.; I was phoned before 3.00 p.m. When I called back the
Chronicle
, Mr. Raudebaugh, who covered the case at court, told me: ‘This is big. Don’t you know the sheriff’s office has been notified, your school board has been notified. Let me come out and take pictures.’ I pleaded with him to keep my school out of the papers. I didn’t want the children to be disturbed by this. He asked for my address and said he’d see me in a few minutes. In near panic, I ran out of my house, got in the car, and drove off, but after a couple of miles I turned back. This was it, I decided. I had no one to hurt, nothing to lose; come what may, I was ready.

Returning home, I got a paper bag, cleaned out drawers, ashtrays, and disposed of all the evidence.

Soon an unfamiliar car appeared. It was the local deputy sheriff, whose sister I had had in school for three years and whose nephew was in my class now. Along with him was an under-sheriff.

‘I guess you know why we’re here,’ the deputy sheriff said.

They came into the living-room and sat grimly on the edges of their chairs. I was relaxed and very calm. They told me they had been sent by the sheriff because I had signed an affidavit saying I had used marijuana, and began asking me questions which I refused to answer, saying I would have to consult my lawyer first. Using marijuana, they said, was illegal, and then asked if they could search my house.

‘I understand that a search warrant is legally necessary for this to be done, isn’t it?’ I asked.

‘Well, yes.’

‘Do you wish to search illegally?’

They seemed a bit dumbfounded, hesitated, but finally left, saying, ‘Well, we’ll leave it as it is.’

In the next two days they tried their best, but no judge in Marin County would sign a search warant and I’ve never since been annoyed by any more law enforcement officers. However, my house is ‘clean.’ I have had no marijuana in the house, nor have I smoked it. This way I am able to prove that marijuana is not addictive or habit-forming, any more than brushing one’s teeth is habit-forming or listening to music is addictive.

Next day, Saturday, I was undecided about what to do. I didn’t know whether to call my school board or just wait and see what would happen next.

I’d never been faced with a similar dilemma, so I didn’t know what was expected of me. I’ve always had an adage to go by: ‘When in doubt, don’t.’ So I just waited.

Soon the phone began ringing – calls from as far away as New York and Chicago. When I saw the story on the front page of the morning
Chronicle
, I understood why – my name, school district, county affidavit – it was all there in print.

The sheriff was trying to get a search warrant and my board was meeting. I just sat tight and waited. In the afternoon, a long panel truck with KPIX printed in large letters on the side came up the lane. Two men grinding cameras came across the little Japanese footbridge that leads to my house. They interviewed me on the deck of my house. It was a good interview, easy for me, because I had nothing to hide. All was truth, unadulterated and guileless. The camera continued to grind; the interviewers were kind and sympathetic, although I didn’t feel I needed their sympathy.

That evening, watching the news on TV, I saw, for the first time, how things actually looked to the world.

On Sunday, after many pictures, interview after interview, and interminable calls (I completely lost track of who wanted to know what), two members of my school board arrived, looking sick at heart, sad and pale, among the cameras and newspaper people. They handed me my notice of suspension so I would be sure not to appear at school the next morning.

That evening, returning alone from an Ellington concert, I found more people waiting for me at home. Interviews by tape went on into the night; even a radio broadcast from my home by telephone for the midnight news. Things were really jumping; I still felt fine and very happy because all the country was being informed about what was happening.

On Monday, I’ve been told, the school was abuzz; TV equipment, parents bringing children to protect them from me in case I arrived, my school board, two members of the multitudinous county-office staff, all making sure that school would go on as usual.

Can my children understand how on Friday evening we lovingly said good night to one another and on Monday morning they had to be protected against me – all because of my telling the truth and trying to help a friend in need? Suddenly, I had become a threat to them. The children and I have been trying to be truthful, guiltless, unharmful to others and loving. Is this the way it is done?

Mrs. Minudri, now my lawyer, had been advised by Judge Karish that he would give us two weeks to get as many affidavits as we could, so I had many forms to give out. The same day I was to be interviewed by KPIX-TV and was due at 2.30 p.m. at Mrs. Minudri’s office. She hadn’t arrived but the cameramen and interviewers had.

We had to appear at my school for a board meeting that night so that my fate might be determined. En route we were to stop at the home of Hugh Hinchliffe, the present chairman of the Ad Hoc Committee for the Repeal of the Marijuana Laws. There we met more cameramen for more interviews. Melkon, Molly, and I were all interviewed and photographed until finally I had to call the school to say we’d be about twenty or thirty minutes late. We were followed by a TV wagon to show them the way.

At the school ground we found the space completely filled with cars, trucks, and masses of parents, hippies, sympathizers I had never met before, and the simply curious.

As we entered, giggling and hurrying into the glare of lights and more grinding cameras, a path was cleared down the center of the room and I was seated in the front row facing a long table with three grim-faced board members, their attorney and secretary. All around the edges were the cameras and the constantly moving men with the long cords and mikes.

The board meeting was already under way when we arrived. Only a few of my parents took part in the discussion, saying what a good teacher I was, how they had liked me and what I was doing, but, since I had said what I had, I had broken the law and could no longer be allowed to teach their children. Some parents, whose children I had previously taught, expressed good opinions of my teaching and begged tolerance and understanding. Several so-called hippies spoke well, some were too highly agitated to express their actual feelings. The deputy sheriff who had come to my house said, ‘Why do we need this riff-raff from the city to tell us what to do? We already know what we’re going to do.’