Sometime around 1970, I was walking with a friend down 50th Street in southwest Minneapolis on our way to see "M*A*S*H" (the movie) at the Edina Theater. Near Xerxes Avenue we slipped behind a building and, like a lot of our teenage peers at the time, smoked a joint.
We didn't get caught by the police. That would have been highly unlikely, as there almost never were cop cars in our neighborhood.
I'm not proud to admit I broke the law, and I don't condone it, but it's about time people got honest about marijuana. That is especially true for white people like me whose experiences during the drug's prohibition have been so dramatically different than they would have been if we had been black.
The consequences of this vastly different experience have played out for decades, ruining lives, careers, families and communities. With 10 states and the District of Columbia already having legalized recreational marijuana, and with a new governor and legislative leaders considering it here in Minnesota, let's use this moment to come to terms with the dramatic inequity and finally take some long-overdue steps to address the consequences.
Before talking about how to fix the problem, we need to understand it. Let's say we're back in 1970, and my teenage self is across town trying to sneak a joint on West Broadway, in a neighborhood with a higher proportion of black residents. There are many more police cars along Broadway than along 50th Street, which means it's more likely I'll get caught. We also know that arrest is only where the inequity starts. No matter where I was arrested, the data show my consequences would have been far worse had I been black rather than white.
Blacks and whites use marijuana at about the same rate, but blacks are more than three times as likely to get arrested, according to an American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) study. Studies in state after state have shown disparities that bad, or worse. Once those arrested get into court, disparities get worse: Black male offenders receive sentences that are a shocking 19 percent longer than those for white males with similar offenses, according to a study by the federal government's United States Sentencing Commission, which shows a comparable level of disparity reaching back many years.
The ACLU study also showed that Minnesota spent some $42 million per year enforcing marijuana laws.
To fully understand what all that has meant over these many years of marijuana's prohibition, people in positions like mine, and so many of your readers, need to ask: How different would my life be if, instead of being a white teenager who went on without consequence to see the movie that night, I had been a black teenager, caught and put into the criminal justice system?