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Blossoming Beyond Boundaries: A Cannabis Felon’s Journey to a Brighter Future.

Stephanie Shepard • August 30, 2024

An interview with Last Prisoner Project’s (LPP) Director of Advocacy, Stephanie Shepard, and Amber Davidson of Cannifest. Cannifest will be taking place on September 7th-8th.


In today’s world, where the cannabis industry continues to evolve and challenge the long-time criminalization of cannabis, the stories of those who have had to navigate its harms offer a side that most don't get to see. As a cannabis felon myself, speaking with someone who knows what serving prison time for cannabis feels like, what type of impact it has, and how moving forward is possible; it always feels like a safe space. I was honored to delve into the remarkable journey of Amber Davidson, a former cannabis prisoner who is transforming adversity into acceptance and advocacy. Amber sheds light on the challenges of navigating the system, the impact of probation, and the driving force behind her determination to reclaim her spot in the industry that she helped create as a legacy grower. 



Stephanie: Amber, can you share a bit about your background and how you became involved in the cannabis industry?


Amber: I started smoking weed when I was 14. It was one of those moments where I wondered if I was doing something wrong, or if was I just trying it because it was not what my parents wanted me to do, but I realized that I was just trying to find my community. Being with people who also smoked weed felt like I had found them. I got jumped a few times when I was younger, so I had difficulty fitting in with people from middle school through high school, especially high school. When I changed schools, being the new kid was difficult. And I just started building community through cannabis. One of my boyfriends at the time was very involved in cannabis, and so for me, it was finding that.



Stephanie: How would you describe those people? What were the characteristics of the people that you found accepted you, and made you feel safe and comfortable in that circle?


Amber: 

We were the people who hung out under the bleachers. We were the ones that didn't fit in with the general groups of people. It was funny because this group was made up of people from different circles. Athletes, artists, and musicians were all brought together by cannabis but also felt like black sheep because of cannabis.

Stephanie:

So even back then, the stigma surrounding cannabis was very prevalent. Does it surprise you now to see the lengthy sentences that victimless cannabis prisoners are still serving all these years later?


Amber:

It's very disheartening to see people still getting in trouble and still serving these insane sentences, and others are afforded the luxury to make careers stemming from the plant. Even myself and others who've been negatively impacted by cannabis criminalization are now able to viably see this as a career opportunity, and it's just mind-blowing that the system holds different people to different standards.


Stephanie:

When you think of Michael Woods (serving life), Parker Coleman (serving 60 years), or Jason Brant Gregg (serving 15 years), do you feel a sense of guilt that you came from the legacy market like them but are now free to openly participate in the legal market?


Amber:

To be honest, it does make me feel guilty because it's difficult to process being on the outside while all of these people have been in for so long for the same plant.

Thinking of people who have committed much more heinous crimes, actual crimes, who get an equal or lesser sentence, it's a hard pill to swallow.


Stephanie:

You served 49 months of a 70-month federal sentence for cannabis. We served time at the same facility in Dublin, California. How did those 49 months impact you and your relationship with your friends and family?


Amber:

I have a very small family. Both my parents were adopted, so I didn't have a lot of the same familial support that a lot of other people had, then and now. My dad passed away when I was in my mid-twenties, and 6 months to the day after I was raided, my mom passed away. Trying to navigate all of it, essentially alone was fucking difficult. I had some step-family, but after my dad died I didn’t feel like a family anymore per se. It felt like “Okay, we'll be here to take your phone calls and send you letters”, but I didn't have a courtroom full of people there to support me.


Stephanie:

Having that support helps you get through the experience. Do you feel like you leaned more on friends, or did you just feel like “I'm in this alone?” 


Amber:

I leaned on friends a lot. I only had a couple who felt comfortable communicating with me during everything. I had one girlfriend, Beth, who offered me a job immediately when I got out, and she was a new friend. She was somebody that I had met when she was helping my ex-boyfriend get his accounting in order for his business before we got in trouble, and so I barely knew her. I may have known her for 7 or 8 months before we got in trouble, as strictly a business relationship.

She ended up being one of the only people who would regularly visit and write to me all the time. She took my call every time I called her and always made sure to email me and send me letters, cards, or pictures. We call each other sisters. There's a reason why we came into each other's lives at the time that we did. I know why she came into my life because I needed her. It's been such a powerful friendship because of that. She just saw that I needed a friend and very rarely do people show up that way. One thing I will say about cannabis, in general, is that I’ve found a lot of people in the industry who just want to be good, want to be friends, and be a good friend to people.


Stephanie:

You made it through that chapter, you got out, but you did a little bit of probation time. How long were you on probation? Can you tell me a little bit about what it was like to navigate life while you were on probation?

 

Amber:

I was on probation for about about 2 years. I treated probation like I was on home confinement, but a much more free home confinement. I couldn't leave certain areas. I couldn't go to Sacramento, Tahoe, or L.A. I got in trouble once for something that I shouldn't have been doing, I fucked up and failed a drug test. I remember profusely apologizing and crying my eyes out. I was terrified and decided at that moment that nothing was worth that feeling.


Stephanie:

What was your biggest fear? Were you afraid of the interruption it was going to cause in your life after all the time you had put into your reentry?


Amber:

I was afraid that I was gonna lose all of my good time, be violated, and go back! I had to drive to see my probation officer after I knew I had failed the drug test, knowing that's why I was going there, and in fear as I was walking into her office in the Federal Courthouse buildings. There were agents of all types, including U.S Marshals, that I knew were going to be waiting for me when I walked in the door. While I was sitting there with her, I just kept thinking they were going to come in the door and arrest me. Thankfully, that never happened. But, oh, my God! Was I terrified? Scared straight for sure. There are some things that I took away from prison that weren't entirely bad. 


Stephanie:

What lessons did you learn what lessons did you learn from your overall experiences that personally and professionally stick with you today?


Amber Davidson: One of the biggest lessons I learned is nobody's going to come save you. You have to figure it out for yourself and be okay with whatever decision it is that you make. For that to happen to me, there was a period where my ex-boyfriend was firing attorneys left and right, hiring new ones, and he did the same to my attorneys or convinced me to do the same to my attorneys. There were a lot of things that I should have done differently, but I know that the decisions that I made were based on the information that I had at the time, so I'm okay with those decisions now. For me, being okay with myself and the decisions that I made. Even in this situation, I just had to ask myself “What will I do moving forward? And how do I make the best out of it?”


Stephanie:

You are now a leader in the legal cannabis space, what advice do you have for others who may have faced similar challenges and are looking to move forward as you have?


Amber Davidson: 

The most frequent question that I was getting asked as I was deciding to get into the legal cannabis industry was, “What do you want to do?” It took me a while to figure out what it was that I wanted to do. The one thing that I did know was that I deserved a space here. I'm supposed to be here. It took me honing in on what it is that I wanted to do to be able to say, ”This is how I'm going to move forward.” When I began defining what that looked like, more opportunities started coming to me, even from the same people who were already asking me “What do you want to do?”


Stephanie:

That makes all the sense in the world. And that is a great first question to ask yourself. When we get out and see what the market looks like for some, we want to dive head-first into it without having the tools to make it happen and that can be incredibly frustrating.


Amber Davidson: 

Specifically for somebody who is in the same position that we’re in as a felon. I just recently got my dream job working with Cannifest, a 2-day music and cannabis festival in Humboldt County, but it took me having to interview with several places, like the local casino, where I got a big, fat “Unless you can get your felony expunged, absolutely not!” It was very disheartening. I don't know if it's because as soon as you Google my name, my case comes up, but once I found what it is that I wanted to do, I started even getting real interviews with people who were ready to go to the next step, but then having to have that conversation with people that are not in the cannabis industry, and saying “...so I do have a felony.” I had to practice having that conversation. Figuring out how I was going to portray what happened to me, and what were the events of my story that I'm willing to share with people. Coming to terms with how it may be received. Figuring that out is probably one of the best pieces of advice I can give.


Stephanie:

With all that you have experienced, how have those experiences motivated you to be an advocate for reform?


Amber Davidson: 

It's really hard to see people sitting in a place that I once was and didn't have the support that exists today. It's really important to amplify everyone else's mission like LPP or other organizations that are trying to do good by trying to be that bridge and include as many people within the cannabis industry as possible. It's unfathomable to me how LPP can support so many people when we look at how many people are still incarcerated. In all of the different ways, you know whether it be helping them find attorneys, helping them get back on their feet when they get out, helping their families while they're in, making sure that people are getting letters and being remembered and talked about. It's really important to me to also amplify that message for everybody because bridging the gap between people who are in the industry today that even acknowledge that this is a reality, which a lot of people don't even want to acknowledge. That's my main advocacy goal.


Stephanie:

How do you think that your background and your experiences help influence the public perception of cannabis, and what a cannabis “criminal” looks like?


Amber Davidson: 

I've been hopeful and getting more comfortable being the face of the idea that I could be your sister, daughter, or wife. Sometimes it's a little bit disheartening because some people don't see it as that. They're just like “Okay, cool. You got in trouble. That's not gonna happen to me.” A lot of people don't think of it as being a real reality because of the way that the laws are in each State. It's easy to live in your bubble and forget that our experience is still a very real possibility for anyone.


Stephanie:

That's one of the challenges I feel like I encounter a lot, people feeling like it's so safe and forgetting that it's federally illegal. The normalization of cannabis is great, but I fear it will become so normalized that people forget about the tens of thousands incarcerated.


Amber Davidson: 

My goal is not to scare people but to remind them that the plant is still under siege by many people. Many people have put themselves out there in social media land, trying to amplify their voice or their brand, and in turn, ended up getting caught in the crosshairs over a variety of things, but unless we keep talking about it, how will others ever learn?

Stephanie:

I couldn't imagine if all of the advocates just stopped talking about it. If there was no LPP, no Free My Weedman. I know what not being fought for feels like and I can't imagine not being the voice that I didn't have serving my 10-year sentence. If you had one message for outgoing President Biden, the incoming new administration, or state governors, what would that message be? How can they right the wrongs of cannabis criminalization?


Amber Davidson: 

I think there needs to be a better understanding of the disparities in the types of crimes and the types of sentences that are being given right now, the punishments do not fit the “crimes” 99% of the time. I don't know if there's a way to right this wrong. If they decide to deschedule things or reschedule things, what we did is no longer considered a crime. There is no making things right for us, but they can start with the release of currently incarcerated cannabis prisoners, that is a given, then really taking a look at moving forward and not treating cultivators and distributors like we had bad intentions with what we were doing.


Stephanie:

Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me, Amber. I don't think people hear enough from the women who have had these experiences. Your voice is incredibly valuable. Thank you for your advocacy, your work in the space, and for bringing Cannifest to Humboldt!

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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