This Friday, April 20, 2018 is a historic day for California. Thanks to the passage of Prop. 64, it will be the first 4:20 celebration to occur after the sale and recreational consumption of marijuana became legal in our state.
So this April 20, when you and your friends are packing that first, celebratory bowl of the holiday, please remember to sprinkle a few pinches of shake on the ground to honor a local hero of the 4:20 movement. His name was Steve McWilliams and he was one badass activist.
I remember first reading about Steve circa 1995. It was a time when many people still clung to the reefer maddening idea that legalizing pot, even for medical reasons, would lead to the collapse of society. It was maddening because the not-doctors in Congress turned a deaf ear to people suffering from cancer, AIDS, multiple sclerosis, etc. who were all howling, “Hey assholes! The shit actually works! Why you gotta pot block?” And McWilliams was one of those people.
For McWilliams, it began with a head injury from a 1992 motorcycle accident. It was the start of a lifetime of chronic pain including debilitating migraines. For this, doctors had prescribed all manner of opioids. The only problem was that they left him “disoriented and in more pain than before.” So, he turned to cannabis, and the stuff actually worked.
Fast forward to 1996, when California passed Proposition 215, known as “The Compassionate Use Act,” which permitted possession and cultivation for medical reasons. This was a victory for human rights, and McWilliams, personally, was ecstatic that his preferred method of pain management would finally be legal. It also allowed him to help others. Or so he thought.
At great risk to himself, he opened several medical cannabis collectives like Shelter from the Storm which was treating, among others, a 73-year-old woman with leukemia and a 70-year-old man with prostate cancer. Dude was helping people—actual sick and/or dying people.
And while the police ignored the fact that Prop. 215 was now the law of the land, they certainly didn’t ignore the people who voted for it. They continued busting medicinal providers as if nothing had changed, including McWilliams’ cannabis club in Valley Center. That raid lurched his activism into high gear. He began protesting on the steps of City Hall, bombarding the City Council’s open sessions (sometimes with a pot plant in hand), flooding the media, blazing joints in public and generally throwing up a lot of, um, smoke to get the city to comply with 215. He even ran for City Council. I asked Toni Atkins, now President Pro Tem of the California Senate, what she remembered about McWilliams.
“In 1999, when I was running for City Council, Steve was one of my opponents. He lived in Normal Heights. As odd as it may seem, I actually gave him a ride to at least one debate when we faced off. [He] was a gentle and good soul. He fought the good fight… I can only imagine what he would think today.” Atkins went on to say that we should remember Steve for his pivotal role in shaping cannabis policy and public opinion.
Spoiler alert: Atkins won. But it did not deter McWilliams. He ramped up the protesting to the point that it put a target on his back, causing him to be raided and/or arrested several more times, culminating with a 2002 conviction for violating The Controlled Substances Act. It seemed obvious to many, including Patrick Dudley (McWilliams’ attorney) that he was bushwhacked.
“The DEA spokesman has publicly stated that the impetus to Steve’s federal prosecution is that he ‘flaunted’ it,” Dudley told CityBeat in November 2002, “thus, prosecuting Steve for exercising his free speech rights.”
Dudley fought the conviction, and McWilliams was set free pending appeal. However the judge ordered random drug tests to ensure he would not partake—a particularly cruel act knowing McWilliams’ adverse reaction to prescription drugs. It all went downhill from there. He was wracked with pain, addled with rage and lobotomized by methadone. He felt his government was trying to kill him and did not believe he could survive a stint in prison without access to effective pain relief. On July 11, 2005—his 51st birthday—McWilliams swallowed a fatal dose of pain pills.
Oh yes, stoners, Steve McWilliams was a beast for the cause. And it is damn near blasphemous that I have to condense what is an epic tale of heroism and tragedy into a measly thousand words or so; that I have to use phrases like “fast-forward” and “one thing led to another” to squeeze it all in. Because what he gave and how he suffered, it would take a book to do it justice. So I’ll leave you with his final words, the suicide note, which says more than ever I could (edited slightly for length):
“Dear All, This is my time to say goodbye… Taking the methadone was only supposed to shut down the pain from the headaches which lately have been very bad. I wanted to stop the pain but that got out of control too. I didn’t realize what I was taking. I just wanted the pain to go away. But now, with everything that happened I know I will never be whole again. . .
As an activist I believe in acting when the time is right… I believe that my [death] can help move the discussion of medical marijuana back to what’s good for the patient… This was my last chance to help the medical marijuana movement and others that I care about… After last week my mind and body have not been the same. Thinking is much, much more difficult. I still feel very dizzy and nauseous. I know that I will not be able to recover to the pain level I was at before… I believe now though that I will be locked up in some kind of cell. I refuse to allow the govt. to control my life. That’s what so much of this has been about—my right to use a medicine that worked for me. As an activist I’ve given everything to the cause—all my possessions, my time and my life. You can’t give more than that. NO Retreat. NO Surrender. Love, Steve.”