I HAD A DREAM
If it is one thing I know, cannabis helps me sleep. More often than not, we’re talking about a deep sleep. Like, I just ditched school on a fall day and got to sleep in all morning, kind of sleep. But the other night was restless, not normal. Too much research stacking up in my limited mental reserves, no pressure release valve readily available.
I woke from a fever dream. But this wasn’t random—it carried a poem, unrecorded, remembered in my soul. Weighty. Sacred. Dangerous. Someone dared to keep this flame alive. Someone passed it on. And now, it was in my hands.
The chill ran deep. Fear followed. In a place where dissent is lethal, this poem wasn’t decoration—it was a call to arms. A whisper against omnipresent surveillance, against the lie of “safety” in the dark. The truth, raw and dangerous, demanded not only recognition but action. Could I spark the match?
Holding the flame is a choice. Ignorance is easy. Compliance is comfortable. But seeing is action. And once you choose to see, the question shifts: what will you do? Fear tells you to hide; urgency says you must strike. Even whispering a subversive thought risks exposure—but risk is the only currency of change.
So I did it. The thing. Lit the match. Fragile. Dangerous. A single flame in the dark, sulfur stinging my fingers. Most blow it out. Most choose calm. But steady it long enough, and the walls appear. The cracks, the dust, the secrets. Ignorance isn’t peace. It’s camouflage. Pain is the cost of illumination. And you can either drop the match or let it ignite something bigger.
That’s how revolutions begin. Not with a bang, but with someone refusing to let go of a burning match. One spark touches paper—policy drafts, old propaganda, sacred files of hypocrisy—and the flame was never meant to last. It was meant to be passed on. One ember, then another, until the space isn’t dark anymore. It becomes a field of small fires, each one a testimony, each one daring others to understand.
I hold the ember. Fragile, sharp, urgent. The night whispers, seducing me to hide it, to silence the truth, to pretend. But pain is the price of knowing—and knowing… is the first breath of change. I chose to pass the flame—not as torchbearer, but as keeper of sparks. In that spreading light, courage grows.
The shadows cannot hold secrets forever.
So I picked up my pen.
Robert Randall’s Light, Veterans & Cannabis
Fragile but insistent, that ember in my hand reminded me the fight for justice is never abstract. Veterans’ access to medical cannabis is one such spark.
Veterans are federal patients. Full stop. They receive care through the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). That makes the federal government legally, morally, and medically responsible for them. Life-saving therapies—including medical cannabis—fall squarely within Uncle Sam’s duty.
There’s precedent for this. Robert Randall beat the feds in 1976, and again in 1978 when he was authorized to use cannabis under the federal “Compassionate Investigational New Drug” program. The ruling hasn’t been overturned. It’s ignored. Today, veterans meet the same criteria: medically documented, under federal care, using cannabis when nothing else works. Yet they are denied—gaslighted, punished. This isn’t bureaucratic oversight; it’s institutional betrayal. If the federal government could grant one civilian access to medical cannabis under federal supervision, it can—and must—do the same for millions of veterans.
The question is not whether cannabis is virtuous or vicious.
The question is whether our laws still serve human dignity—or merely themselves.
Why This Matters:
Federal Duty of Care: Veterans are federally recognized patients. The Controlled Substances Act applies directly. Denying access violates continuity of care and equal protection.
Uncle Sam Recruited Them: They endured countless harms—trauma, injury, PTSD, TBI, moral injury, sleep disruption, opioid dependency, suicidal ideation. VA prescribes fentanyl, benzodiazepines, SSRIs, stimulants—yet blocks cannabis, often safer and more effective.
Medical Necessity is Protected: Randall established legal federal medical necessity. Veterans qualify. Yet no Compassionate Use pathway exists for VA patients.
Federal Civil Rights Issue: Denial constitutes disparate treatment, medical discrimination, and violation of bodily autonomy.
Recommendations:
Federal Veterans Cannabis Access Program:
Administered by VA & HHS
Cannabis as federally protected therapy
Federal patient ID for interstate travel & legal protection
Reinstate Compassionate IND Program:
Veterans meet criteria: no effective alternatives, documented use, medical supervision
Deschedule Cannabis:
Schedule I is scientifically invalid
Descheduling allows VA prescribing, research, interstate access
Protect Against Weaponized Diagnoses:
Cannabis Use Disorder (CUD) must not block access to care, benefits, or trials
Supporting Evidence:
Randall: Granted legal federal cannabis access after proving medical necessity
Veterans: Millions enrolled, many using cannabis therapeutically
VA: Acknowledges benefits in limited studies but remains blocked from prescribing
States: Nearly 40 allow medical cannabis; federal patients remain trapped
The fact is veterans didn’t stop being federal property after service. They swapped uniforms for VA cards—but the federal obligation remains. The government calls them heroes, now it owes them real medicine.
Not folded flags. Not more pills. Cannabis.
Here’s what federal recognition of veteran patient status could immediately enable:
Medical Cannabis Access:
Structured enhancement of care within VA
Uniform federal policy across states, bypassing local restrictions
Post-Traumatic Growth & Holistic Therapy:
Gardening, AI Growbots, holistic therapies are legally federally sanctioned
Funded via Substance Use Disorder prevention, Whole Health Program grants
Veteran Service Organizations → Compassion Centers:
Federal patient support networks
Reduce suicide, pharmaceutical reliance, unsafe behaviors
Legislative & Federal Coordination:
Target VA, HHS, Appropriations, National Drug Control Policy
Uniform implementation of therapy, training, cannabis programs
Community Integration & International Exchange:
Federally authorized wellness programs
Measurable, fundable, scalable
Reintegration support under federal care
Veterans’ status as federal patients is the keystone to all of this. Every proposal—cannabis, holistic wellness, compassion centers, legislative coordination—is legally defensible, fundable, and morally imperative. It saves lives, restores autonomy, and honors service.
Reflection for Action:
Recognizing federal patient status shifts the legal landscape for cannabis access.
It allows innovative wellness programs to be implemented within federal oversight.
Transforming VSOs into compassion centers improves reintegration and mental health.
Federal coordination ensures uniform access across states, even where cannabis remains restricted.
Framing holistic therapies as federally sanctioned shifts public perception and reduces stigma.
Community-based initiatives can serve as models for broader healthcare innovation.
Safeguards are required to protect veterans as programs expand.
Moral obligations are clear: legal, medical, and ethical imperatives align. Inaction is no longer an option.
Republics do not fall only by swords. They fall by moral laziness, by allowing fear, profit, and habit to replace reasoned judgment.
One match. One spark. One ember passed. The dark cannot endure. Veterans are federal patients. Cannabis is medicine. Action is mandatory. Fear is optional. The government owes more than words—it owes life, healing, and freedom.
“That’s exactly what should be done.
Should have been done a long time ago.” — Noam Chomsky
The real question is: who are you—and what will you do with your fire?
