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Bentley Hatchett Shares His Reentry Journey After Serving Time For Cannabis

Mikelina Belaineh • May 23, 2023

Bentley joined LPP's Director of Impact, Mikelina Belaineh, via Zoom for an hour-long interview. Bentley shared about how he became incarcerated for cannabis and the impact it has had on his life. The content of this article is informed by Bentley’s words, but they are not verbatim. Parts of this interview have been edited for length and clarity, and have been reviewed and approved by Bentley.


Tell me your story of cannabis criminalization, how did you get to be here with me today doing this interview? 


I grew up in Austin, Texas. When I was about to go into kindergarten my mother started talking about wanting to go back to college to finish up her degree. My dad had an old-school mindset that the wife should stay at home, and he said he wouldn’t allow it. My mother wouldn’t stand for that, so my parents ended up getting divorced in 1978. My dad made it very difficult for my mom financially, and she ended up only with the bare minimum of what she needed to take care of us. She provided for us, but there was never enough to fully address our family’s needs. My father’s absence took a real toll on me, he became just a voice on the other side of the phone. It was harsh, all I really wanted was my dad there, and then I’m watching my mother struggle trying to take care of us on her own. Pretty early on, I started finding ways to help. I couldn’t stand to be a burden to my mother. 


 Eventually, my older brother started running with people that were selling cannabis and other drugs. I got looped in and started helping my brother with the business. By 15, I was making insane money, especially for a teenager. This is back in the late eighties. It felt great to be able to contribute to the family. I've never done what I've done to be the man, I only sold cannabis to help my family. Come 1989, my brother encountered some trouble, and he ended up getting busted and sentenced to 14 years. That was my first taste of what incarceration does to a family. My mother and I were devastated, it's still painful for me to remember. For the first 2 weeks after he got sentenced, I don't think my mother, or I left our beds. Both of my male role models had been ripped from my life. I fell into a darkness, struggling mentally and emotionally. I started doing cocaine and other hard drugs, I was in bad shape. It got to the point where my friends had to intervene to get me cut off. I was still going to school, functioning, but just barely.


Fast forward, I go to my first Grateful Dead show and get introduced to psychedelics. Psychedelics and cannabis combined ended up having a very profound effect on my life. Once introduced, I was able to use LSD, mushrooms, and cannabis to facilitate deep introspection and healing. I came to understand how I had been using hard drugs to avoid and escape my emotional pain. Psychedelics reframed my afflictions and gave me space to open up and dive into my experience. As a junior in college, I decided to leave school, move out to California, and join the emerging Psychedelics movement. My goal was always to be a part of serving the greater good. 


In the late nineties, it was still in the early stages of cannabis in California. The weed wasn’t great, so a lot of people were getting their product from Canada. Me and my friends figured we could probably grow some great weed outdoors in California. The first time I got arrested, I got in trouble because of my ties to the psychedelic community. I was charged because my name had been thrown around. I had introduced one person to another person, I didn’t sell anything, and I didn’t get paid for anything. 


 The DEA lied to the prosecutor about my involvement in the case, and the government withheld evidence that would expose the truth. The judge gave the prosecution one week to get all of the missing discovery to my lawyer. Of course by the evening before the 7th day, when we were supposed to return to court, they still had not complied with the Judge's orders. The prosecutor calls my lawyer that night and says that if took a plea deal she would drop my conspiracy charge (which held a sentence of 6-9 years) to a misprision of a felony charge which would end up having me 1 year incarcerated and 1-year paper. So of course I took the deal, even though the underlying charge was based on lies and government misconduct. 


So, I served my time, and when I got out. I was like, okay. I'm never going to do anything that's going to lead me back to prison. Once I got off paper, I moved back out to California and started doing the medical thing there. There weren’t many people in the medical game at the time, and I had a lot of experience under my belt—things were going well for me. A childhood friend of mine was living in New York and asked me and my partners to source cannabis for them. I was naïve and agreed to work with them in a limited capacity, thinking I could avoid being implicated if things went wrong. Eventually, my friend ended up getting in trouble for grow houses he had in Texas. One thing leads to another, and people start getting arrested and giving names. Next thing I know there’s a warrant for my arrest. I was looking at a 10-year sentence, and I wasn’t willing to tell on someone else to get out of punishment—so I went on the run. I sent my family away, got them set up, and then disappeared into the woodwork. I was on the run for 8 years total. 


I was hopping from Airbnb to Airbnb, staying with friends, when unbeknownst to me, someone had called the U.S. Marshalls and alerted them to my moves. I had no idea that I was being tracked. One evening, I was in the lobby of my hotel and this guy comes up to me and say, “Is your name Bentley Hatchett?” I say no it’s not; I had no idea who this guy was, he didn’t identify himself as an officer. He throws me up against the wall and grabs my passport out of my back pocket. He ends up arresting me for narcotics trafficking out of New York City. I told him I had never sold narcotics, but it didn’t matter.


I was incarcerated pre-trial, without bond because they deemed me a flight risk. They bounced me around to a few different facilities until I got sent to MCC Manhattan, where I stayed. It was terrible, basically a glorified county jail. Soon after my arrival, in April of 2020, we went into Covid lockdown. Everything was shut down and the entire system was frozen. Conditions went from bad, to unimaginable. Rats were running amuck, toilets on multiple levels were overflowing, and staff and guards weren’t showing up to work. For 18 months I didn’t see the sun or feel fresh air on my face and was left to languish in a facility not fit to sustain human life. 


 I was lucky to have a good lawyer. He believed in the merits of my case and hustled to work the system on my behalf. The prosecutor told him that the DA’s office doesn’t really care about weed anymore, they’ve got f*nt*nyl, human trafficking, and issues of violence on their plate-- weed was not on his mind at this point. Plus, the original prosecutor and judge for my case were gone by this point (it had been 8 years). The Prosecutor said if I did a self-proffer, then he would go easy on me. Everyone in the original conspiracy had already done their time and were off supervised release. So, I sat down with him and explained my involvement. All I did was vet and round up Californian herbs for the program, I was never part of the shipping or movement of product in the NYC market. I was able to get the prosecutor to understand that I was only involved in 470 kg, versus the 1850 kg the government was trying to hold me accountable for. 


The judge presiding over my case was overseeing cases of other people in my unit and became aware of how bad the conditions in the MCC facility were. God bless her, she went through the sentencing guidelines and found a way to reduce each of our sentences based on the amount of time we had been locked down. I got 16 months taken off my sentence. They ended up shutting down MCC Manhattan and moved most of us to MDC Brooklyn. 


What has life after incarceration been like for you and your family? 


Reentry's been hard. You can't get just walk into any place and get a job as a convicted felon, even if it's non-violent. But I've been very lucky to have people helping to prop me back up, friends giving me opportunities to work. I do have opportunities in the legal cannabis space, but I can't accept them. The judge said I can’t be a part of the cannabis industry whether it's legal or not, because I was convicted in a Federal court. I’m on paper for 3 years, if I violate the conditions of my supervised release, I go back to prison. So, I do what I must to get by. All I can do is keep moving forward, how things unfold is dependent on my mindset. The whole experience was so destructive to my family. I missed out on so much with my kids. I wasn't there for the soccer games, and taking them to school, just doing the day-to-day stuff that children need. It's a damn shame that my kids couldn’t grow up with their father. I do my best to be a great father to my 5 kids now, to take steps to make amends and heal, but it’ll take time. It’s really frustrating to not be allowed to participate in the industry, but I feel so blessed to be free, no longer looking over my shoulder out of fear. 


There are so many people that are incarcerated right now for nonviolent drug offenses and don't need to be. Under different circumstances, they could have been CEOs, people of stature, and status in our community. I was sitting in the cell watching New York legalize and thought “The only difference between me and these ‘businessmen’ is that I was a little bit ahead of the curve.” I know I could’ve made different choices to avoid some of the things that happened to me, but I believe in what I did. I provided cannabis to folks who need it, I did it to heal people. 


What would you like to see happen in cannabis reform? 


Everybody has somebody in the family that smokes, and most people have probably tried it. A lot of folks believe it's not that big of a fucking deal and yet we still have people getting incarcerated, we still have people that have been incarcerated for it for decades. I share my story because I want to help advocate for these folks. Cannabis needs to stop being a money thing. The industry is working off the same good old boy network that’s been running everything. Politicians need to listen to the people on the ground and front lines, not these big-money MSOs.

Roots of Resilience: African American Contributions to the Cannabis Movement

By Stephanie Shepard • February 20, 2025
Roots of Resilience: African American Contributions to the Cannabis Movement Cannabis has deep historical roots, stretching back thousands of years across various cultures, including Africa, where it was used for medicinal and spiritual purposes. In pre-20th century America, hemp was cultivated primarily for fiber, but there is evidence of its use within some African American communities as well. These early connections laid a foundation for a complex relationship between African Americans and cannabis, one shaped by cultural significance, criminalization, activism, and entrepreneurship. This journey reveals a narrative of resilience and influence, showcasing the integral role African Americans have played in the evolution of cannabis culture and policy in the United States. The 1930s marked a pivotal shift with the enactment of the “Marihuana Tax Act” of 1937, which effectively criminalized cannabis. This legislation was rooted in racial undertones, strategically associating cannabis use with marginalized communities, particularly African Americans and Mexican immigrants. This racialized narrative was fueled by propaganda that painted cannabis users as violent and dangerous, reinforcing stereotypes that justified harsh legal consequences. The demonization of cannabis laid the groundwork for decades of systemic discrimination and criminalization that would disproportionately impact African American communities. Despite these challenges, African American cultural icons began to reshape the narrative around cannabis during the early 20th century. Louis Armstrong, an iconic jazz musician, openly discussed his cannabis use in interviews. His candor helped normalize its use within African American culture, particularly within the jazz scene, where cannabis became associated with creativity and artistic expression. Armstrong's influence extended beyond his music; he challenged societal norms by embracing cannabis as a tool for relaxation and inspiration, subtly defying the negative stereotypes perpetuated by mainstream society. His legacy continues to inspire artists who view cannabis as an integral part of creative expression and cultural identity. During the 1960s, amid the Civil Rights Movement, cannabis use emerged as a form of counterculture expression among Black Americans in urban areas. The plant became a symbol of resistance and freedom, aligning with the broader struggle against racial oppression. Yet, this association with rebellion also made cannabis a target of political agendas. In the 1970s, the Nixon Administration launched the “War on Drugs,” a policy initiative that disproportionately targeted Black communities. The criminalization of cannabis escalated, leading to skyrocketing arrest rates and significant incarceration disparities. Nixon's advisor, John Ehrlichman, later admitted that the policy aimed to disrupt Black communities and antiwar activists, revealing the racially motivated underpinnings of the drug war. The impact of the War on Drugs intensified during the 1980s under the Reagan Administration, which implemented even harsher drug laws, including mandatory minimum sentences for cannabis offenses. This era further stigmatized cannabis, exacerbating mass incarceration rates among African Americans. The resulting social and economic consequences devastated countless Black families and communities. However, even amid this adversity, resilience emerged. As the criminal justice system disproportionately targeted Black Americans, leaders and activists within these communities began organizing and advocating for change. By the 1990s, discussions around drug reform started gaining momentum, and African American activists played crucial roles in these conversations. They highlighted the racial disparities in drug enforcement and advocated for decriminalization and legalization of cannabis. This period marked the beginning of a shift in public perception, as activists linked cannabis reform to broader social justice issues. This became especially common in rap and hip-hop where many Black artists are advocates still today. In the early 2000s, the push for medical cannabis legalization gained traction in several states. African American activists were instrumental in these movements, advocating for patient rights and access to cannabis as medicine. By the following decade, significant progress was made as more states legalized cannabis for recreational use. This new landscape allowed Black Americans to participate in the industry as advocates and entrepreneurs. Yet, systemic barriers persisted, preventing equitable access to business opportunities. Wanda James emerged as a trailblazer during this time, becoming the first African American woman to own a dispensary in Colorado. Her business, Simply Pure, symbolizes resistance against the racial discrimination historically tied to cannabis prohibition. Wanda’s advocacy extends beyond entrepreneurship—she works tirelessly to influence cannabis legislation and ensure communities affected by criminalization benefit from legalization. Her leadership challenges the status quo and paves the way for a more inclusive industry. Meanwhile, Calvin Johnson, a former NFL superstar, co-founded Primitiv cannabis to highlight the therapeutic benefits of cannabis as a safer alternative to opioids commonly used by athletes. His advocacy challenges the stigma surrounding cannabis use in professional sports and emphasizes the need for reparative justice in communities disproportionately affected by past drug policies. Now in the present, the 2020s represent a pivotal moment in the cannabis movement, as legalization continues to expand and discussions about equity and justice gain momentum. States have implemented measures to address the injustices faced by Black Americans during the War on Drugs, including expungement of records and support for minority-owned cannabis businesses. Donte West is at the forefront of this movement, leveraging his experiences with cannabis criminalization to advocate for equity and systemic change. Through his work with the Last Prisoner Project, Donte inspires others to participate in the cannabis industry and advocate for justice. We have seen a surge of African American entrepreneurs who are redefining the cannabis industry. Jesce Horton, the founder of Lowd and Grand National, is committed to creating opportunities for historically excluded communities while influencing cannabis legislation to promote equitable access. Roger “Ganja Guru” Sterling uses his platform to uplift communities of color and challenge societal narratives around cannabis, while Gibran Washington, CEO of Ethos Cannabis, advocates for inclusivity and justice within the legal cannabis market. Their leadership reflects a new chapter of empowerment and success, breaking down barriers and ensuring diverse voices shape the industry's future, though there is plenty of work still needed to balance the scales of cannabis ownership. Organizations like The Hood Incubator and Free My Weedman are also crucial in paving the way for a more inclusive cannabis space. By supporting Black and Brown entrepreneurs, advocating for equitable policies, and raising awareness about unjust incarcerations, these initiatives work to rectify historical injustices and promote social equity. Kristal Bush, founder of Free My Weedman, combines her entrepreneurial spirit with community advocacy, influencing cannabis policies and empowering marginalized communities. As we honor the contributions of Black individuals and organizations during Black History Month, it is essential to recognize the ongoing struggle of those disproportionately criminalized for daring to be involved with cannabis. From Louis Armstrong’s cultural influence to modern-day entrepreneurs and activists, African Americans have shaped the cannabis movement at every turn. Their resilience and leadership challenge systemic injustice, demand equity, and celebrate cultural identity, paving the way for a better industry for all. To continue supporting this legacy, we can engage in conversations about equity, support Black-owned cannabis businesses, and advocate for policies that promote justice. By acknowledging the past and celebrating the strides of the present, we can build a future that honors the roots of resilience within the cannabis movement.

What President Trump's Private Prison and Death Penalty Executive Orders Tell Us About Criminal Justice Reform to Come

By Adrian Rocha • February 7, 2025
o weeks into President Trump’s second term, cannabis has not surfaced as a leading issue in the early days of his new administration. However, several appointments and two executive orders signed during the first week of his second term will factor into the new administration’s drug and criminal justice policy approach. On his first day in office, President Trump signed an Executive Order (EO) rescinding a slew of EOs signed by former President Biden, including one effectively ending the use of private prisons to house federal prisoners . At the time President Biden signed the EO directing the Justice Department not to renew contracts with private prison firms, it was estimated that around 14,000 individuals incarcerated at the federal level were being held at private prisons. Additionally, President Trump signed another EO encouraging the Attorney General to “pursue the death penalty for all crimes of a severity demanding its use.” During his first term, President Trump voiced his support for seeking the death penalty for drug traffickers. This position was later formalized in a memo by then-Attorney General Jeff Sessions that encouraged federal prosecutors to seek the death penalty in cases involving large-scale drug traffickers. There were concerns at the time that the memo could be used to seek the death penalty for individuals involved in large-scale, state-legal cannabis operations; however, these fears never came to pass. The uncertainty around leadership further complicates the implementation and impact of these two executive orders. President Trump’s Attorney General nominee, Pam Bondi, who will oversee the Justice Department, was confirmed earlier this week. Additionally, the recent resignation of the Director of the Bureau of Prisons (BOP) has left the agency without a leader. During her confirmation hearing, Bonid reiterated her support for the continued implementation of the First Step Act, which could lead to additional releases from the BOP. In a letter to the newly minted Department of Government Efficiency, Senator Elizabeth Warren (D-MA) also encouraged the federal government to look at scaling back the enforcement of federal cannabis laws, broader legalization, and the BOP to pursue compassionate release at greater scale to reduce the size and cost of the federal prison population. In her letter, Senator Warren cites a potential cost savings of $881 million if the BOP were to more zealous seek the release of individuals over age 65, are classified as presenting a minimum or low risk of recidivism, and are found not to be a danger to the safety of any person or the community. LPP has successfully advocated for the release of constituents incarcerated for cannabis via commutations and compassionate release motions, including nine in the first Trump administration. If the goal of a second Trump administration is to divert resources away from government largesse, ending unnecessary cannabis enforcement and granting clemency to those still incarcerated for cannabis is a great way to start.

Maryland Must Build on Record Relief Progress with the Expungement Reform Act (SB 432)

By Adrian Rocha • February 4, 2025
At the Last Prisoner Project (LPP), we know that those burdened by past cannabis convictions deserve true justice by getting their criminal records fully expunged and allowing individuals to move forward without the lifelong barriers. In Maryland, where Governor Wes Moore made history last year by issuing the nation’s most sweeping cannabis pardon order, we are now calling on lawmakers to take the next step: passing SB 432, the Expungement Reform Act of 2025 . A criminal record—whether for a conviction or even just an arrest—can create lasting obstacles to employment, housing, education, and other opportunities. The impact is not just personal; according to research from the Center for Economic and Policy Research, the U.S. economy loses between $78 and $87 billion annually due to employment barriers faced by people with criminal records. These collateral consequences compound the injustices of the War on Drugs and disproportionately affect communities already marginalized by systemic inequities. SB 432 seeks to simplify the expungement process, removing unnecessary bureaucratic hurdles and making it easier for individuals to clear their records. The bill will help thousands of Marylanders—many of whom have already served their sentences—access new opportunities and contribute fully to their communities. In 2024, Governor Wes Moore demonstrated bold leadership by granting pardons to over 175,000 Marylanders with low-level cannabis convictions. This was a critical step toward undoing decades of harm caused by cannabis prohibition. However, the reality is that while a pardon provides some relief, it does not automatically erase a record. Individuals must still navigate complex legal procedures to have their records expunged—a process that can be costly, time-consuming, and confusing. LPP urges the Maryland General Assembly to amend SB 432 to ensure that individuals granted full and unconditional pardons can have their records expunged automatically. Without this critical update, many of those pardoned under Governor Moore’s order will still face barriers to jobs, housing, and other essential services, despite having been officially forgiven by the state. Adrian Rocha, LPP's Policy Director, was recently appointed to the governor's roundtable on expungement, where we hope to provide further expertise on how to fully effectuate cannabis justice through retroactive relief. Research shows that record clearance not only benefits individuals but also strengthens communities. A recent study found that five years after receiving expungement, individuals were less likely to engage in criminal conduct than members of the general public. By increasing access to jobs, housing, and educational opportunities, expungement promotes community reintegration and stability—key factors in public safety. Moreover, Maryland has the opportunity to join 12 other states that have implemented state-initiated expungement for certain offenses, recognizing that individuals should not be required to navigate complex legal systems to obtain relief they are already entitled to. Maryland has already taken significant steps toward cannabis justice, but the job is not done. Passing SB 432 and ensuring automatic expungement for those granted clemency will solidify the state’s commitment to meaningful criminal justice reform. LPP urges the General Assembly to pass SB 432 and amend it to ensure that those who have received full pardons under Governor Moore’s order do not have to wait or fight for the relief they were promised. This is about more than policy—it’s about restoring dignity, removing barriers, and allowing Marylanders to build better futures. The time for action is now. Maryland’s commitment to justice through record relief must extend beyond pardons. Let’s finish what we started. Read our full testimony below:
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