Getting stoned while Mexican
Writer Andrea Aliseda explores the complicated cultural, social, and historical ties between Mexican identity and consuming cannabis
When I was about 16 years old, I got a call from my dad who was crossing the border back to San Diego with my younger brother in tow.
In an earnest voice, he said, “I’m not going to get upset with you, but be honest with me, do you smoke marijuana?”
Around this time I was being introduced to cannabis, dabbling casually with friends.
I hesitated. My relationship with my dad was always strained, he had an aggressive personality and a very ill-temper. He said the border patrol’s dog had sniffed through his car. He wanted to know if there was weed in the car, or if I had smoked in it. I told him the truth, I hadn’t smoked or kept weed in his car, but one fact remained: I did smoke.
It was a vulnerable moment that I would soon regret. In the flip of a coin his rage boiled over and poured through the line, telling me the cutting words I will never forget, “you’re going to die a drug addict just like your uncle.”
My uncle died from a heroin overdose just before his twenty-first birthday. Nobody saw it coming. It was a hurt I was not yet healed from since he had passed just a year prior when I was 15. But marijuana isn’t heroin, I remember thinking, completely gutted. And now I was getting labeled a “drug addict” with under the specter of death, to boot.
“In the late 90s we were drug addicts and lazy [for smoking].”
I’ve learned in later years that this wasn’t my dad just being my dad, although he is not blameless –– the idea that cannabis is a hard drug was not exclusively of his conception. This notion was part of deep conditioning our Mexican culture has suffered as a result of Harry J. Anslinger’s reefer madness campaign, as well as our country’s history with the drug cartel and the violence it leaves in its wake. It’s a complex terrain Mexicans who smoke are left to navigate.
Cannabis in Mexican society, including Mexican-Americans and Chicanos within the United States, has been seen as a substance for lazy, jobless, drug-addicts.
San Diego based chef Lety McKenzie, who has been smoking for 26 years on-and-off and runs the Hija del Maíz pop-up, corroborates the stigma, saying, “in the late 90s we were drug addicts and lazy [for smoking].”
Chef McKenzie was told it was a gateway drug, but recalls that when she first tried it at fourteen, “I just fell asleep and woke up thirsty and hungry.” [editor’s note: anyone else feeling a little nostalgic for brick weed?]
Aracely Coronado, a Chicana make-up artist based in Brooklyn, New York corroborates the stigma. “Women smoking in our culture is very much frowned upon. I grew up hearing my mom and aunts call people ‘Pinche Marijuanos’ to show their disappointment and dislike of people who smoke.” “There's a lot of shaming,” she adds, “My mom would basically say that people who smoke weed would amount to ‘nothing’. Super harsh and judgmental ideology in my culture.”
“Resentment of drugs among my tias, mom and nana was understandable. In their mind, cannabis ruined their family,” says Coronado. “So I grew up hating it too.”
Sister Camilla Valley, from Sisters of the Valley Mexico—a chapter of the activist group of nuns in Merced County originated by Sister Kate, Sisters of the Valley—thinks the stigmatization of the plant began before Anslinger’s campaign.
“Last I heard from ethnohistorian Aldo Conto, is that in Mexico prohibition began before the United States,” Sister Camilla explains. “I found it extremely interesting [that it was defamed] since the colony and then in 1920, [the prohibition of cannabis] became ratified by Venustiano Carranza.” Carranza was a leader in the Mexican revolution, interestingly enough, he fought alongside Pancho Villa, a general and emblematic figure of the revolution, who, you guessed it: smoked cannabis.
However, there is more to the stigma to consider.
In Coronado’s case, her family had a history of hardships with drugs, which shed a much more personal light on the issue. Her mom was used to traffic drugs in her hometown of Hermosillo, Mexico when she was a little girl, making “drops” with stuffed toys. In later years, Coronado’s uncles faced prison time and deportation because of involvement with drugs and alcohol.
“Resentment of drugs among my tias, mom and nana was understandable. In their mind, cannabis ruined their family,” says Coronado. “So I grew up hating it too.”
It’s hard to ignore the treacherous path cannabis has tread in order for us to have the privilege to enjoy it. Though it’s a healing herb, history has painted a different picture, one that’s tainted it for centuries.
So what’s changed? Or rather, what can change?
As time has worn on and the scientific studies have confirmed the healing benefits of the plant, along with the decriminalization of cannabis in the United States, the stigmatization within our communities has lessened.
In my case, I’ve been able to talk with my dad about my work as a seasonal cannabis trimmer, explaining how I “manicure” the bud to get it ready to sell, showing him step-by-step pictures. He’s even stepped foot inside a dispensary with wonder instead of glaring judgment, even if he may never plan on smoking it, they’ve been incredible strides for someone who had previously compared cannabis to heroin.
Coronado’s mom, who suffered trauma from the drug trade, now uses CBD for chronic pain. “She has been on so many toxic medications in her life that to me, her using CBD is a huge leap forward for her health,” says Coronado. Though, she’s yet to tell her mom she smokes.
“They accepted it recently when they realized my consumption didn’t affect my professional development.”
Entrepreneur and herbalist Paulina Rico of The Herbal Sanctuary in San Diego was grounded for four months when her parents learned she smoked in high school. Now she’s very open with her family about her cannabis use and feels supported by them too.
“It’s so crazy to think back to the time I was yelled at and grounded,” Rico said via email, “to now blowing my vape pen smoke into my mom's face as a joke, making products with it, and even seeing my dad grow his own plantitas!” Today, Rico makes CBD-infused balms, CBD joints, and teas through her shop, using the harvest from her dad’s CBD plants grown at home.
It seems our culture is beginning to heal from the racist Reefer Madness campaign and is finally circling back to this plant with more openness and curiosity for its healing benefits.
But it is not without activists and users who are actively proving the stigma wrong.
“My grandparents, my parents, my brothers –– they don’t have a problem [with me smoking],” Sister Camilla shared with Cannabitch, “they accepted it recently when they realized my consumption didn’t affect my professional development.” Sister Camilla is a doctorate student and founding member of the Mexico chapter of Sisters of the Valley.
Destigmatization starts with confidently coming forward about our consumption, one step at a time, and giving the plant respect where it’s due. Our privilege to shop for pre-rolls, and smoke openly in parks has not been without years of toil, lives lost, and shame imprinted on our community and generations before us. This is something we mustn't forget or fail to recognize as we move forward in an open embrace towards a more open and accepted relationship with cannabis, and its healing properties.
“I don’t hide my consumption,” says Sister Camilla, “I think it’s time for us stoners to say with pride that we are functional people that do not fit these stereotypes that exist in Mexican society...it’s time to show that cannabis is a medicine before anything, and there are many people that could benefit from it.”
Aliseda is a writer, poet, and cook who revels in exploring her Mexican roots through food and history, eating sustainably, cannabis, and connecting with nature. She has written for L.A. Taco, Edible, Grlsquash, Compound Butter, Munchies (VICE), Bklyner, and more; she also interned at Passion of the Weiss, San Diego CityBeat [editor’s note: RIP!!!], and the Southwestern College Sun. Born in Tijuana, B.C., Mexico, Aliseda grew up in San Diego, CA and until very recently called Brooklyn, NY home. At present, she’s back in California for at least a spell and there will be more to come from her, including a first-person dispatch from her weed trimming adventures in Mendocino County. Follow her on Instagram and Twitter.
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