Ker­wyn C Thomp­son

It is 2025, and de­spite claims of progress, T&T re­mains stuck in a cy­cle of emp­ty re­forms and bu­reau­crat­ic stag­na­tion when it comes to cannabis. While some cel­e­brate the de­crim­i­nal­i­sa­tion of 30 grams for per­son­al use, the deep­er struc­tur­al in­jus­tices con­tin­ue — block­ing eco­nom­ic growth, cul­tur­al recog­ni­tion, and pub­lic health progress. Cannabis re­mains a po­lit­i­cal pawn, se­lec­tive­ly tol­er­at­ed but not tru­ly lib­er­at­ed.

We are no clos­er to a func­tion­ing cannabis in­dus­try, and the com­mu­ni­ties that have car­ried the cul­tur­al and med­i­c­i­nal knowl­edge of this plant for gen­er­a­tions are still be­ing side­lined.

To un­der­stand where we are, we must al­so ex­am­ine where these ideas come from. The stig­ma sur­round­ing cannabis use in our so­ci­ety is not root­ed in sci­ence or Caribbean cul­ture, but in colo­nial ide­olo­gies de­signed to crim­i­nalise and con­trol. Eu­ro­pean pow­ers and their lo­cal en­forcers la­belled cannabis a “dan­ger­ous drug”— not be­cause of its ef­fects, but be­cause of who used it. From in­den­tured In­di­an labour­ers to African-de­scend­ed spir­i­tu­al lead­ers, the plant be­came a tool for jus­ti­fy­ing sur­veil­lance, sup­pres­sion, and so­cial ex­clu­sion. This colo­nial lens still shapes our laws and at­ti­tudes to­day, long af­ter the so-called drug war has failed across the globe.

We must con­front the re­al­i­ty that de­crim­i­nal­i­sa­tion of 30 grams for per­son­al use — is not true re­form. It is a band-aid on a pol­i­cy frame­work still de­signed to pun­ish, con­fuse, and mar­gin­alise. There are no clear laws re­gard­ing seed pos­ses­sion, no path­ways to cul­ti­va­tion li­cences, no clar­i­ty on sacra­men­tal use, and no re­spect for the lived cul­tur­al his­to­ry of cannabis in this re­gion.

This is not sim­ply a reg­u­la­to­ry over­sight — it’s an in­sult to com­mu­ni­ties like the Rasta­far­i­an faith, whose sa­cred use of cannabis has long been crim­i­nalised, mocked, and po­liced. To this day, no for­mal con­sul­ta­tion has been held with lo­cal Rasta­far­i­an groups in T&T about their re­li­gious rights and prac­tices in­volv­ing cannabis. This ex­clu­sion con­tin­ues even af­ter gov­ern­ment of­fi­cials stood on po­lit­i­cal plat­forms and promised in­clu­sion and di­a­logue.

By con­trast, look to An­tigua and Bar­bu­da: a small Caribbean na­tion that has shown tremen­dous lead­er­ship. There, cannabis has been de­crim­i­nalised, med­ical­ly reg­u­lat­ed, and most sig­nif­i­cant­ly, the gov­ern­ment has for­mal­ly ac­knowl­edged the Rasta­fari com­mu­ni­ty’s sacra­men­tal use of the plant. Prime Min­is­ter Gas­ton Browne even is­sued a pub­lic apol­o­gy for past per­se­cu­tion of Ras­tas, and Rasta­far­i­an groups have since re­ceived li­cences to grow and use cannabis on their own terms. This is what true re­form and Caribbean jus­tice look like.

Mean­while, here in T&T, cannabis en­tre­pre­neurs are un­sure whether they can im­port seeds legal­ly, and re­li­gious groups are still left in le­gal grey zones. The Food and

Drug Di­vi­sion has is­sued no frame­work for health-based cannabis over­sight, and the At­tor­ney Gen­er­al’s Of­fice has made no sub­stan­tial ef­fort to lead com­pre­hen­sive re­form.

Worse still, while re­spon­si­ble cit­i­zens are pe­nalised for trans­port­ing cannabis seeds for per­son­al use, the re­al threats con­tin­ue to go unchecked. Cannabis smug­gled in from South Amer­i­ca — of­ten trans­port­ed along­side hard­er drugs like co­caine and hero­in — con­tin­ues to flood our streets. This il­lic­it prod­uct pos­es se­ri­ous pub­lic health risks, both due to poor han­dling and po­ten­tial con­t­a­m­i­na­tion.

The ab­sence of a le­gal, trace­able sup­ply chain not on­ly fu­els the un­der­ground econ­o­my but leaves our cit­i­zens — es­pe­cial­ly young peo­ple —vul­ner­a­ble. The fail­ure to reg­u­late opens the door to dan­ger, while crack­ing down on ad­vo­cates does noth­ing to pro­tect the pub­lic.

If we are se­ri­ous about re­form­ing cannabis laws, we must go be­yond sym­bol­ic de­crim­i­nal­i­sa­tion and ad­dress the ac­tu­al sys­tems of con­trol that re­main in­tact.

We must:

• Ac­knowl­edge and in­te­grate Rasta­far­i­an re­li­gious use in the Cannabis Con­trol Bill

• Cre­ate a trans­par­ent sys­tem for im­por­ta­tion and reg­is­tra­tion of seeds

• Clar­i­fy rules for per­son­al and sacra­men­tal cul­ti­va­tion

• Es­tab­lish a cul­tur­al­ly and eco­nom­i­cal­ly ap­pro­pri­ate li­cens­ing struc­ture

• En­sure that cannabis laws re­flect the Caribbean con­text, not im­port­ed drug war ide­olo­gies

This is not just a le­gal is­sue — it is one of cul­tur­al jus­tice, eco­nom­ic in­clu­sion, pub­lic health, and re­gion­al lead­er­ship.

As some­one com­mit­ted to build­ing a Caribbean-root­ed cannabis in­dus­try that in­cludes tra­di­tion­al knowl­edge, small farm­ers, and faith-based users, I am call­ing on the At­tor­ney Gen­er­al and the Min­istry of Health to act now. Re­form is not some­thing we can post­pone un­til it’s po­lit­i­cal­ly con­ve­nient. The con­tra­dic­tions are al­ready hurt­ing re­al peo­ple and set­ting us be­hind.

De­crim­i­nal­i­sa­tion is not lib­er­a­tion. And cannabis can­not be “free” in a so­ci­ety where the peo­ple who used it first — cul­tur­al­ly, spir­i­tu­al­ly, and med­i­c­i­nal­ly — are still treat­ed like crim­i­nals.