Trying to clear things up, in 2003, the California Legislature passed SB 420 (the number apparently a joke by state senators), which created some limits and regulations. A year later, Oakland passed an ordinance requiring licenses for dispensaries and limiting the city to four licenses. Today there are four booming dispensaries, although the Oakland City Council is considering doubling the limit.
"The Oakland ordinance has never been challenged because Oakland was on the ball — they were ahead of it," says Berger, the attorney and L.A. ban opponent. In fact, more than 50 California cities and other localities created regulations that have never been challenged in court.
ILLUSTRATION BY JESSE LENZ
PHOTO BY JENNIE WARREN
Isa Aron hadn't smoked pot for 32 years.
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But the Los Angeles City Council fiddled. In 2005, there were a handful of dispensaries, and people were afraid to invest money in a business the DEA could raid.
The City Council "didn't want to touch it with a 10-foot pole," says Jessica Gelay of the Drug Policy Alliance, "as if it wasn't already a law, and they didn't need to do anything about it."
Bolanos opened Pure Life in 2005, partly because she felt like all the other dispensaries looked like drug dens — she remembers strobe lights, loud music and employees with tattooed faces. Avedis Ghaghian opened the California Caregivers Alliance in 2006, the same year Matt Cohen opened the Natural Way L.A.
"I felt like a total scumball," Cohen says, "because there were already 35 before me." At the first GLACA meeting he attended, he sensed other dispensary owners looking at him as if to say, "What, another one?" He adds: "A year later there were 300."
By then, dispensary owners and activists were begging City Attorney Rocky Delgadillo for an ordinance to regulate their industry. They wanted assurances that LAPD wasn't about to shutter them, and some wanted to discourage scads of new dispensaries from diluting their market.
"I've screamed and yelled for regulations since before I opened the door here," Bolanos says. In one tense exchange with Delgadillo, she says, he "told me to my face that there would not be an ordinance in Los Angeles because it was federally illegal."
In 2007, the City Council finally passed something — an interim control ordinance, which placed a temporary moratorium on new dispensaries and required existing ones to register with the City Clerk. There were 183 that did.
But the moratorium didn't work, instead fueling a surge of new dispensaries that used a loophole in the language. Two years later in 2009, KCET series SoCal Connected coined a now-famous factoid: L.A. had more marijuana dispensaries than Starbucks stores. They opened in clumps — as many as three or four to a block, installing bulletproof glass and security guards in the same neighborhoods as schools, churches and quiet restaurants. Some Neighborhood Council activists were apoplectic, and a backlash grew.
Americans for Safe Access, GLACA and other nonprofits lobbied City Hall to create a better road map for dispensaries. Patients made for a particularly sympathetic constituency, and when Carmen Trutanich ran for city attorney in 2009, he actively courted the medical marijuana vote.
"Carmen didn't come to us. Missy-thing did," says Bolanos, referring to Trutanich aide Jane Usher, whom Bolanos holds in such contempt for betraying the movement that she can't bear to say Usher's name.
"She said, 'We need your support.' We knew Jack Weiss was against [the dispensaries]. So she came and romanced us, and she told us that [Trutanich] would be fair. And [Trutanich] invited us to the victory party."
"And then he turned around," adds the Drug Policy Alliance's Gelay, "and stabbed them in the back."
From the moment he took office, Trutanich signaled his preference for prohibition. Just three months into his tenure, he helped organize a "training luncheon" in Montebello, hosted by the California Narcotics Officers' Association. The topic: "The eradication of medical marijuana dispensaries in the city of Los Angeles and Los Angeles County."
"The issue is ... you can't sell it," Trutanich said in 2010. "You have to be a primary health giver or a group of users growing your own and sharing the cost. And that's not what's happening. You have the retail model going on, and people are getting rich."
SB 420 includes the provision, "Nor shall anything in this section authorize any individual or group to cultivate or distribute marijuana for profit."
According to the bill's author, retired legislator John Vasconcellos, the provision was purposely vague and didn't actually ban profiteering. Even so, it's now widely accepted by dispensary owners and lawmakers that pot shops must be nonprofit.
But making a profit has always been a term of art. If you open a dispensary, make half a million dollars and then pay half a million dollars in salaries, has your business turned a profit?
"I find it ridiculous that we're trying to tiptoe around this," says attorney Berger. "The idea that we have to somehow take this out of commerce — it's frankly disingenuous. It's a concept in every aspect of health care."
Huizar's proposed ban would force patients or their primary caregivers to grow their own marijuana, a comically impractical solution.
Marijuana takes at least three months to grow if you have expertise and state-of-the-art technology. It takes an amateur perhaps nine months. To a patient suffering from nausea or chronic pain, nine months is forever.