how globalists run the illicit drug trade - part 2
more personal experiences
Welcome back to the sietch all of you freedom loving heretics!
Tomorrow (Saturday) some neighbors and I will be slaughtering two of my pigs, so this is getting posted a day early.
In part one I laid out much of the story of my involvement in the newly emerging homegrown Cannabis industry in Southern California from the mid ’70’s to the mid ’80’s. Upon reflection, I may have led some readers to believe that this period was not without its dangers. Not true. In 1978 I got busted for growing. Well… sort of.
I’m telling this first story because it establishes the reason why I made the decision I did during my second and much more epic bust, told later. But very much like that later bust, it’s also indicative of everything that’s wrong with drug laws, law enforcement and society general.
I’m about to give you a glimpse into a part of the corrupt legal system few know about. Keep in mind that, unlike cop shows or movies, the following stories are true.
Having a better understanding of my living situation when this first story takes place will help.
I consider myself an artist, but not in the common sense of the word. Certainly not as a writer, painter, sculptor or photographer. No, the palate I’m most passionate about is Ma Earth herself. This stems partly from a simple child's reading of the Bible that we are to be good stewards of the earth. Some of it’s also due to the fact my mother was a great gardener and that there are generations of farmers in my family that go back into the mists of time. Or, maybe it’s due to the spirit that inhabited me when I was born. Whatever the reason, my first word was ‘side, meaning I wanted to go outside, and I had my first garden at age 8, in my wagon, which I pulled everywhere.
As an adult, that childhood passion evolved into the nursery industry, which led to a landscaping business which brought me back to farming. All the while, cultivating cannabis was a hobby that began early on, and as hobbies often do, eventually developed into a business. In all of those cases, an artists inner eye is required to visualize the final product to bring it to fruition. For a landscape or a farm, the realization of that vision can take decades. For the realization of goals in a Cannabis breeding program, that could be a lifetime.
story #1
It’s late August of 1978 and as I drive up my long driveway after a hard day of working on a landscape installation project with my crew, I look to the north through the avocado grove and spot the hard-to-see Cannabis indica plants growing under the avocado grove. Yup, they’re looking really good. I park my truck next to my little house on top of the hill built by a Japanese farmer just prior to WWII (the family was one of many locally who were interred during the war and lost their farms), and walk out to check on another patch of Cannabis sativa growing on the other side of the hill, tucked in amongst some citrus trees. They’re also looking really good. So I go inside and plop myself down in a chair and turn on the tube to catch the news.
Five minutes into the news I look out the window to see a local police car driving up my driveway. Panic strikes me as the car stops and an officer gets out, walks towards the plants in the citrus grove, while the car drives back down the driveway. The officer finds the plants I had just looked at a few minutes earlier and walks the well-worn path from those plants to my door. He knocks and peers through the screen door. I answer and ask if I can help him. He asks if those are my “plants” and points with his thumb over his shoulder. I tell him truthfully that this is not my property, that I’m the farm caretaker. He motions me to follow him and says, “Let’s take a walk”. We walk down the well worn path to the plants and he points to them and says, “You know growing this is a Federal offense.” I pretend innocence and say, “really?” He said some other official nonsense, then pulled out his radio and called dispatch and told them to have his partner come pick him up. Dispatch comes back asking for his 10-20, his location. He paused… and right then I knew these guys were on the take and that they were just shaking me down. He told dispatch, “Just have him pick me up where he dropped me off.” It was blatantly clear they didn’t want dispatch to know what they were up to. My panic began to dissipate.
He began pulling up the 13 plants in that location and piling them up. As his partner pulled up the driveway, he walked out of the citrus grove with fistfuls of Cannabis plants in both hands. When his partner saw what he had, his eyes lit up and he got what the farm boys where I grew up called ‘a shit eatin’ grin’ on his face.
They opened the trunk, threw the plants in and as they got in the car asked if this was all there was. I lied and said they had wiped me out. They had, but not completely. They told me they were letting me off with a verbal warning, got in the car and drove back down the driveway, laughing and having a good ol’ time as they drove right past my treasured Cannabis indica plants. Those plants and some crosses I had growing with them went on to mature beautifully and proved to be the best crop I ever harvested.
At this point in my young life I had not yet begun to put together the pieces of the greater globalist puzzle. However, I did know that 200 years earlier growing Cannabis was considered a traditional farming practice by our founding fathers and that growing one of Gods finest herbs should not be illegal in a free country. And as naive as I was, I also understood that what those cops were doing was illegal.
arizona - story #2
In this part of the story, my involvement in the Cannabis trade expands, and along with it so does the eye opening effects on how the deep state puppets work for globalists. We pick up the story in 1984, when I moved to my present location in Arizona 12 miles from the border. As I explained in part one, because of all the time I spent traveling in Mexico, I came to love the people, the food, the land and the culture there. Part of the reason why I chose this location was because it provides easy access to the border. There is another reason why I chose this area, which will become apparent soon enough.
As long time readers know, this location is also where I began my regenerative farming journey. In different ways, the many years I spent in the nursery and landscape industry as well as cultivating Cannabis for many years, played a significant role in deepening my inherent love of agriculture. But for me, one of the primary reasons for being involved in the Cannabis trade was to fund the rather expensive process of buying and setting up a farm. In this remote region where jobs are non-existent, land is not cheap, and agriculture was largely untapped, that was the primary goal of many of the growers I knew back in those days.
best laid plans
To that end, the first year here was spent putting in a solar powered well and water system (utility power was miles away), building a mile of fence over extremely rough terrain and setting up a travel trailer to live in while I built a house.
The second year I laid out an extensive drip irrigation system in some of the most remote nooks and crannies of that very remote and rough property, prepared the soil with some amazing organic material, including bat guano from nearby cave and elephant manure from the circus, and planted some of my best seed.
I had a friend with connections back east who was going to buy whatever I could grow. At that time some of the best Cannabis in the world was coming from this area. It’s at the same latitude and elevation as the finest growing regions in the Hindu Kush region of Afghanistan, and I knew several other growers here whose buds had appeared in the center fold of High Times magazine. My buyer friend knew I had that type of quality in my seed collection, so he fronted me enough money to get me through the summer so I could stay at home to tend the crop full time.
It wasn’t going to be a huge crop, but it was going to be enough to pay off the property, build a modest natural construction (see the link) home and get myself set-up to pursue my passion growing livestock and food crops.
All was going well until late August when an out-of-state friend became upset with me over a complete misunderstanding and, unknown at the time to me, turned me in.
Late one hot August afternoon I was out tending to the crop when I heard a car drive in. Guerrilla growing teaches one many useful skills; creativity, tracking, stealth and caution being among them. Because of the intense work involved, it also develops stamina and a toughness too, and a deep appreciation and familiarity with the habitat in which one is growing. Having grown crops in wild places like this for 9 years, this being my second year in this location, I was feeling pretty comfortable with the habitat. So I sneaked around to where I could safely glance over a hill to see who it was and quickly realized it wasn’t anyone I knew, and, just as quickly realized it was two narcs.
They poked around my house, saw some freshly harvested Cannabis in the window and… drove off. They had just illegally gathered evidence without a search warrant. Within 10 minutes two sheriff officers in a marked sheriffs car arrived at my gate and parked. That they didn’t just drive in and that they parked, told me they didn’t have a search warrant, but they were suspicious. So being the fearless fool I was, I began walking the hundred yards down my driveway to talk to them. As soon as I got close they drove off. I walked back to the house and they came back to my gate. I walked down my drive toward them a second time and they drove off again. By now it was about to get dark, so I went inside and began preparing supper and contemplating what I should do. While I was eating I heard crashing through brush, followed by cursing. I went out to check and determined that the two officers were clumsily trying to walk through some trees and brush with a flashlight along my fence line. After about an hour of this they left. I knew they could see nothing from anywhere along my property line, but it seemed likely that they would return in the morning with a search warrant and reinforcements.
So, after they left, which was well after dark, I went out and harvested all the larger plants, the ones that were the most advanced into the desirable flowering process, which was about 75% of the crop. They were still 6 weeks away from being fully mature, but on the chance that they might come back in the dark, I thought it best to get what I could, while I could. I also wanted to glean enough to at least reimburse my buyer for the money he had fronted me.
I was also reminded of the time in California when I was shaken-down by those corrupt cops. What if this was going to be another one of those events? With that in mind I decided to leave 17 plants in the ground as a potential backup. There was also the possibility that they wouldn’t find them - the landscape and plant cover was that rough. I threw the bulk of the crop into the back of my pickup and drove a mile or so across public land in the blackness of night to a mesquite bosque I knew about and stashed the plants under the trees. Then I went home to bed.
I got up at 3 a.m. grabbed a bite to eat, jumped in my truck and drove out to the bosque, retrieved my plants and drove across state land to a neighbors house who I knew well, also a grower.
Growing on public land (BLM, State, Forest Service) and driving across it like this, where there are no roads of any kind, is common practice for guerrilla growers throughout the Western States where public lands typically represent over 50% of the land mass of the 11 Western states.
I arrived at his house at about 5:30 a.m. Fortunately he and his wife were early risers and were out doing chores when I drove up. I explained what had happened the night before and asked if I could stash my plants at their place for a while. They said of course, and we proceeded to hang the plants in a shed. By 6 a.m. I was cresting a ridge line on public land between their place and mine on the way back home, when my property came into view about a mile away. I wasn’t overly surprised to see a US Customs helicopter hovering over my house with State police, DEA, Border Patrol, and of course, the Sheriffs department, all in the process of surrounding my house with approximately a dozen vehicles and maybe 30 officers piling out of them.
My first reaction was… ok, I can’t go home anytime soon. So I turned around, went back to my friends house, told him what was happening, and that I was going to disappear for a few weeks and asked if everything would be ok if I just left. He said not to worry about anything and wished me well.
My second reaction was… I couldn’t believe the size of the operation they had launched against me. That they were spending hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars to put together a massive operation like this to bust little ol’ me spoke volumes to me about the power behind those who control the illicit drug trade.
From there I drove into the city to contact my buyer and tell him the bad news. Because I knew this guy very well and because I knew he was cut from the original Cannabis trade cloth - a regular guy whose business happened to be buying and selling Cannabis - I wasn’t overly worried about telling him what had happened, but I did feel bad about not being able to fulfill our agreement. I also knew that he would be happy to hear that I had salvaged enough of the crop to more than reimburse him for the money he had fronted me.
And that was the case. In fact, I was apparently so rattled when I saw him and told him what had just happened that he said, “Remember a while back when we were talking about going fishing over in the Gila wilderness sometime?” I said yes and he said, “Let’s do that tomorrow.” I told him I only had the clothes on my back, no fishing pole and that because I didn’t want to use my bank account, I had no money, and he said, “No problem, its my treat.” The next day we made the 4.5 hours drive to the Gila and spent the next two weeks blissfully hiking and camping in the wilderness, catching and eating fresh trout cooked over a camp fire.
It was working with considerate, compassionate people like this that got me involved and kept me involved in this business for nearly 10 years. I know, this does not fit the negative ‘drug dealer’ image that the media works so hard to develop and portray. But as I pointed out in part one, back then growing and dealing in homegrown was a gentleman's business.
Feeling refreshed and invigorated after two weeks in the wilderness, I drove to my neighbors house and asked if he had any news. He said he had ridden his horse over there the day after the raid and found that they had destroyed my irrigation system, ransacked my house and left a note. He also showed me a newspaper clipping that blew the story of my bust completely out of proportion, making it sound like they had just shut down a major operation. The reality was, they got the remaining 17 plants whose combined value - because they had not yet begun to flower and bulk up in weight, was something less than a few thousand dollars. Interestingly, although the location of my place had been described, my name had been left out of the article, which was somewhat reassuring.
This is our taxpayer dollars hard at work on the phony “war on drugs”. Meanwhile, Big Pharma is making tens of billions while killing millions of men, women and children with their covid jabs, and the media sings their praises and no one gets busted or goes to jail.
And people wonder why I keep saying this has nothing to do with law and everything to do with class warfare. Not to mention that once one gains deep insight into the drug trade, one becomes inured to the programming the globalists try to instill. They know this and that scares them.
After making arrangements with my neighbor to come back and pick up the plants and deliver them to my buyer, and after thanking him profusely and leaving him some choice plants in payment, I drove across public land to go home. Upon arrival it was as my neighbor had described, a shambles. The irrigation system had been destroyed and my house had been ransacked. On the kitchen table was a note that said that if I wanted to get back what they had taken, that I was welcome to come to the sheriffs office and talk to them about it.
Right.
I remained concerned that they might still try and pursue a case against me. While fishing with my buyer friend, we discussed this. He tried to reassure me that because I had no prior record, the chances of them pursuing this case were slim to none. So when I read the search warrant and found out it had been made out to John Doe, I immediately knew that this entire operation had been conducted illegally and that it would never hold up in court. How they ever got a judge to break the law by signing a search warrant made out to a non existent person baffles me to this day. But doing so enabled the rest of the deep state dominoes to fall into place and the their combined blitzkrieg assaulted my place at 6 a.m. on that memorable morning.
Among the items they listed as confiscated (read that, stolen) in the search warrant were two books that the search warrant claimed were “books on how to grow marijuana”. That was not true. I had no such books. I didn’t need them because I could have written them. What they took were several books by Rodale Press on gardening. They were grabbing at straws trying to build a case.
For me, this bust was the mother of all wake up calls, on many levels. As I pointed out in part one, this was just one small part of the overall globalist/cartel effort to shut down all their petty little competitors, using the same seek-and-destroy tactics they use to take out unwanted competition in the energy and tech industries.
As was pointed out in part one, it was during this time that the CIA was working diligently with the cartels to consolidate control of the drug trade. And while ramping up the illegality of Cannabis drove up its value and created a windfall for the cartels, their CIA managers and the dirty little op’s they were running all over the world, for peons like me who had no connections in high places, it made staying in the business a question of morality. The business was being taken over by people who had no morals, who were comfortable taking advantage of others and who cared little for the lives of others. All of that was contrary to my belief system and the belief system of those I knew and worked with in the homegrown Cannabis trade. We were happy to merely be breeding, growing and selling modest amounts of one of Gods green herbs, which many found helpful in numerous ways. For that I was considered a threat and shut down by a very corrupt system, and as covidcon has shown, a system hell-bent on control even more now than it was then.
As I thought would be the case after reading the phony search warrant, nothing ever came of that epic bust.
The search warrant permitted them to destroy your irrigation system? Do the govt thieves think you should be thankful they didn't burn down your house or steal your livestock? The more I learn about what our govt and its employees are doing, the more cynical I become about believing our nation is the greatest place to live on God's Green Earth.
Fascinating story Kyle. What sucks is that even though cannabis is much more accepted today and "legal" in many places, things really haven't changed. You still can't grow like you were without spending an absurd amount of money complying with their rules, all so that they can create quasi-monopolies and keep prices as high as possible. I will probably always buy on the black market. Because fuck rules.
They don't need to legalize cannabis. They need to delete every law concerning cannabis.