The statutes directing how people grow, use and transport a certain plant for medical purposes call it cannabis. That’s because in 2017, the Legislature noted the different terms and found that the word “marijuana” has “no scientific basis but carries prejudicial implications rooted in racial stereotypes from the early twentieth century when cannabis use was first criminalized in the United States.”

But “marijuana” is still the name preferred by those who call it a “gateway drug” to harder narcotics and the one still used in parts of our penal code.

Criminal laws prohibit the possession and distribution of cannabis for any purpose other than medical ones.

It’s a misdemeanor to have an ounce. Selling a joint in or near a public park is still a felony with the threat of five-year imprisonment. And unregulated operations involving more than 100 plants or growing 25 plants or more on someone else’s land without permission is a class A felony exposing people to up to 20 years imprisonment or 10 years of probation.

That hasn’t changed. Even when Gov. David Ige took the modest step in 2019 of “decriminalizing” cannabis for people using up to 3 grams, the pejorative stayed on the statutes. It’s still a criminal “violation,” still punishable with a fine for up to $130, and it’s still an “offense against public health and morals.”

This year could have been different. A bill originated in the Senate aimed to regulate “all aspects of the cannabis plant” by legalizing its use for adults, setting up a sales tax and restricting its use in relation to traffic offenses got through the Senate and crossed over to the House.

The bill prompted a loud cry of opposition from the usual suspects. Police chiefs of every county and every county prosecutor’s office lined up against legalization. Honolulu’s top prosecutor, Steve Alm, seemed to head the public opposition and didn’t mince words.

In his written testimony, during interviews and at rallies, Alm argued that legalization would have adverse impacts on tourism and paraphrased the comments of the president of a Japanese tourism agency by stating that “Japanese tourists will stop coming to Hawaii.”

But the opposition wasn’t working — at least not at first. Despite the growing no votes from a bipartisan group of Democrats and a few Republicans, the bill advanced.

That’s what prompted a rally against the bill in February. Speakers included the police chiefs, Honolulu Mayor Rick Blangiardi and former governor Linda Lingle who all united against legalization.

They took an old slogan from a Honolulu City Council campaign a few years back that sought to educate tourists about the economy, culture and the environment. The words “Keep Hawaii, Hawaii” were printed on colorful signs posted in front of the stage. It was repeated again in the speeches and in written testimony urging legislators to uphold the status quo.

It’s a troubling slogan. I’m still not sure what it really means.

Sure, the argument is that it’s intended to prevent large, corporate cannabis producers from setting up shop here, but why target them? How is that different than any other industry selling cigarettes, vapes, booze and red meat? Should law enforcement oppose that?

Is this even new to Hawaii? These islands have a long history of large corporations and entities, be it sugar and pineapple companies, hotel chains and even the United States military, coming here and influencing the economy.

So what exactly does it mean to “Keep Hawaii, Hawaii” by preventing legalization?

I grew up on Maui nearly 20 miles from Wailuku. Other than Hana Highway, most of the roads of my childhood were narrow, winding and oftentimes unpaved. My classmates, friends and neighbors lived in gulches, under thick groves of trees and surrounded by pastures.

In my elementary school, we’d talk about the helicopters.

They flew low enough to shake people’s houses. They were loud enough to frighten animals and babies. These helicopters were part of “Operation Green Harvest.” Armed, militarized police officers patrolled the airspace above our homes flying low enough to look for cannabis. Those programs are gone now. Their popularity waned at the turn of this century.

Is that the Hawaii we’re trying to keep?

Then there’s the ACLU’s testimony in support of the bill. It cites the Office of Hawaiian Affairs’ report on the disparate treatment of Native Hawaiians in our prison system. The ACLU noted that Native Hawaiians “go to prison for drug offenses more often than people of other races or ethnicities.” What about that Hawaii? Should we keep it that way?

Police still use the smell of what they call marijuana as a basis for what criminal defense lawyers call a warrantless detention. They use it as an excuse to seize your car, pat down your pockets and try to question you about it. Is that the Hawaii worth keeping?

Apparently so. 

In the end, the bill died. Despite the projected revenues of $4.4 million in 2026 and $17 million in 2027, Maui Rep. Kyle Yamashita cut off further deliberation of the bill because the timing wasn’t right and we need to “navigate challenges of managing the largest wildfire recovery efforts in Hawaii’s history.”

I’m still troubled by the slogan. The rhetoric and attitude didn’t remind me of Hawaii at all. When I found out the bill died, I thought about Merle Haggard’s 1969 country hit, “Okie from Muskogee.” The opening verse went like this:

“We don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee.

We don’t take no trips on LSD.

We don’t burn no draft cards down Main Street.

We like livin’ right, bein’ free.”

Despite the irony of that last line, the song goes on to chide hippies and proudly “wave Old Glory down at the courthouse.” It’s an anthem for the right-wing conservatives who ramped up the War on Drugs.

The next time lawmakers try to legalize cannabis, the opposition should use the song and tinker their slogan: Keep Hawaii, Muskogee.