“Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world…”
Cannabis isn’t just a plant: it’s a passport. A language without borders. A seed that connects continents, cultures, and generations. It’s the smell on your clothes after a night in a dive bar in Amsterdam. It’s the sticky hash a Moroccan farmer presses into your hand before dinner. It’s the sacrament passed around in a circle in Kingston, smoke rising with the drumbeat. It’s rebellion, survival, commerce, and prayer—all rolled up. Today, the plant is stepping into its renaissance—a moment where the underground, the sacred, and the commercial collide.
If you want to understand the renaissance we’re in now, you can’t do it from a boardroom or a law library. You have to go. You have to move. To taste the dust on your tongue in the Emerald Triangle, to sweat in a Bangkok alley where dispensaries glow neon, to hear the silence of a Rif mountain sunset as hash smoke curls upward.
I’ve spent years watching this story unfold as I have traveled the world for my work in the development of the international cannabis supply chain, and if you listen closely, you can hear it humming like a Grateful Dead tune, equal parts improvisation and destiny. Each region has its own verse, its own chorus, a song of its own. And together they form the soundtrack of the cannabis world we’re walking into.
That’s where the truth lives. And the truth is this: cannabis culture is exploding into the commercial mainstream while fighting tooth and nail to hold onto its soul.
Amsterdam: Where the Curtain First Lifted
My first time in Amsterdam (in 1993) was like walking into Oz. Coffee shops with menus thicker than phone books, glass jars of “Super Silver Haze” and “White Widow” lined up like jewels, the sweet, heavy perfume of freedom hanging in the air. I specifically traveled to Amsterdam for one of the earliest Cannabis Cup events ever held in search of the mysterious Northern Lights variety. Since that time, I have been back nearly a dozen more times, and have grown to love this city like a second home.
Amsterdam was never really about legalization—it was about tolerance. A quiet handshake between people and government: smoke your joint, don’t make trouble. For decades, this little city was the Mecca. You made the pilgrimage to sit by a canal, sip bitter coffee, and inhale what felt like the future.
But futures get old. These days, Amsterdam’s coffee shops are a little more sterile, the government’s a little more impatient, and the party’s moved elsewhere. Still, you can’t ignore what it gave us: a place to come together. To discover that cannabis wasn’t just yours, it was everyone’s.
The Dutch story of cannabis has always been one of careful half-measures—more improvisation than legalization. Since the 1970s, the government’s “gedoogbeleid,” or tolerance policy, has allowed licensed coffee shops to sell small amounts of cannabis to adults without fear of prosecution. But it was never truly legal. Behind the counter, supply remained illegal, creating the famous Dutch “back door problem”; the front door was tolerated, but the back door was criminal. This uneasy compromise worked for decades, cementing Amsterdam as the pilgrimage site for cannabis tourists.
Then came the pushback. Concerned about nuisance tourism, local officials in cities like Maastricht and Amsterdam flirted with policies barring foreigners from coffee shops, introducing the “wietpas” or “weed pass.” Enforcement was uneven, inconsistent, and deeply unpopular with businesses that relied on tourism. The national government sent mixed signals, sometimes threatening crackdowns, other times quietly allowing cities to do as they pleased. The result was a regulatory gray zone that kept both tourists and operators guessing.
In recent years, the Netherlands has tried to bring order to this chaos. The government launched a “cannabis experiment” allowing a small group of municipalities to source regulated cannabis from licensed domestic producers, attempting to close the back door once and for all. Meanwhile, the medical market evolved under strict state oversight, with companies like Bedrocan producing standardized, pharmaceutical-grade cannabis for patients and export. Bedrocan’s products are distributed through pharmacies and exported across Europe, making the Netherlands a quiet powerhouse in the regulated global market—even as the coffee shop scene that made it famous struggles under aging policies.
The paradox is striking: the Netherlands, once synonymous with cultural cannabis freedom, now has one of the most controlled and clinical medical cannabis systems in the world. For tourists, the haze of the coffee shop remains—but behind the scenes, Dutch cannabis has become less about counterculture and more about compliance, a symbol of the country’s long and uneasy balancing act between tolerance and regulation.
“Wake now, discover that you are the song that the morning brings…” Amsterdam was the first chorus.
Northern California: Dirt Under the Fingernails
Head north on Highway 101 and the landscape starts to change. Pines, fog, rivers that wind like lazy joints. Welcome to the Emerald Triangle—Mendocino, Humboldt, Trinity. The ground here doesn’t just grow cannabis; it grows myth.
This is where back-to-the-land hippies came after the Summer of Love, where war vets went to forget, where outlaws carved out freedom one plant at a time. The strains born here—OG Kush, Sour Diesel, Blue Dream—are the DNA of global cannabis.
But legalization hit like a landslide. Paperwork replaced handshakes. Corporate greenhouses overshadowed hillside gardens. Farmers who once grew by the stars now wrestle with tax codes and compliance officers. Some didn’t make it.
California’s legalization of recreational cannabis in 2016 was hailed as a historic victory, but the transition from a decades-long black market to a regulated system has been far from smooth. When Proposition 64 passed, it created a framework for licensing growers, distributors, and retailers, but the rollout was slow and inconsistent. Many legacy farmers in the Emerald Triangle—small, family-run operations that had built California’s reputation for high-quality, artisanal cannabis—found themselves buried in paperwork, facing steep fees, and navigating a regulatory maze they hadn’t been prepared for.
The promise of a legal market quickly collided with reality. State taxes on cannabis are among the highest in the nation, and local jurisdictions often impose additional taxes or outright bans. The result was that legal cannabis became more expensive than the black market, leaving consumers—and many legacy growers—stuck in limbo. Many small cultivators either abandoned compliance or sold under the table, while larger operators with access to capital dominated the licensed market. Compliance costs, testing requirements, and strict zoning regulations disproportionately hurt smaller farms, undermining the promise that legalization would protect the original cultivators of California cannabis culture.
Despite the setbacks, the legal market has grown rapidly, and some segments have thrived, particularly in branded products, edibles, and vertically integrated operations. But the failures of implementation—the over-regulation, the punitive taxes, and the slow permitting process—serve as a cautionary tale for other jurisdictions. California illustrates the paradox of legalization: the law may open the door to legitimacy, but without careful design, it risks excluding the very people who built the culture in the first place, leaving room for both black market persistence and concentrated corporate power.
Still, when you smoke sungrown flower from Humboldt, you can taste it—the dirt, the rain, the stubbornness. “His voice is the voice of the song, of the morning that brings the dawn.” The plant still sings here, even if the choir is smaller.
Mexico: In the Shadows, In the Sun
In Mexico, cannabis has always been there, humming in the background like a corrido on the radio. For decades, the story was written in blood: narcos, prohibition, and violence. But beneath the headlines, campesinos in the hills kept planting, families kept harvesting, joints kept burning on beaches in Oaxaca.
Now, with legalization inching forward, Mexico faces a familiar Latin American riddle: Will the people who grew cannabis for generations finally see justice, or will the spoils go to the same powerful few?
Mexico’s cannabis landscape is defined by contradiction. In 2018, the Mexican Supreme Court ruled that the country’s prohibition of recreational cannabis was unconstitutional and ordered Congress to draft legalization legislation. The ruling set a firm legal deadline for reform, yet for years, presidents and lawmakers have stalled. Political infighting, concerns over crime, and bureaucratic inertia have prevented comprehensive recreational legalization, leaving the country in a state of legal limbo. Citizens can possess and use small amounts, but the formal market for adult use remains nonexistent.
In the meantime, Mexico has quietly developed a regulated medical cannabis framework, modeled on pharmaceutical standards rather than traditional cultivation. Licensed companies can produce standardized cannabis products—oils, capsules, and extracts—that meet rigorous quality and safety requirements, with sales limited to registered patients and approved medical channels. This model prioritizes compliance and export potential, but it largely excludes the small farmers and communities that have historically grown cannabis across the country’s rural regions.
The result is a dual reality: recreational cannabis remains largely illegal and inaccessible, while the medical market operates under a strict pharmaceutical lens. For entrepreneurs and investors, this creates opportunity; for traditional growers and consumers, it underscores the frustration of a system that legalizes the plant on paper but keeps its use tightly controlled, echoing the same tensions seen in other regions trying to balance culture, commerce, and law.
The irony is rich. The U.S. demanded prohibition for decades, only to turn around and legalize—and now Mexico has to decide whether to follow, resist, or reinvent.
People say that food tastes different when you know its history. So does cannabis. A joint in Mexico carries the flavor of struggle and survival.
Colombia: Exporting the Future
Colombia’s name was stained by cocaine for so long that people forget—it’s also perfect for cannabis. High altitude, steady sun, fertile soil. In greenhouses outside Bogotá, cannabis plants now stretch toward the light, destined not for the streets but for German pharmacies or Canadian wellness products.
Colombia has emerged as one of Latin America’s most ambitious cannabis markets, leveraging its ideal climate and agricultural expertise to position itself as a global supplier. In 2015, the government passed legislation legalizing the cultivation of medical cannabis under strict licensing, and in 2016, Colombia became the first country in the region to authorize the export of medical cannabis products. Since then, the regulatory framework has evolved to include cultivation, processing, and distribution licenses, with strict oversight by the Ministry of Health and the National Narcotics Directorate. These laws have enabled a surge of domestic companies and international investors establishing large-scale operations, particularly focused on high-quality, GMP-compliant oils and extracts for export.
Despite the rapid growth of the legal market, Colombia faces challenges in ensuring equity and inclusion. Small-scale and traditional growers often lack the resources, infrastructure, or knowledge to navigate the complex licensing process, effectively limiting participation to well-capitalized entities. Compliance with security, quality, and reporting requirements can be prohibitively expensive, while the shadow market still thrives alongside legal operations. Recent reforms have attempted to streamline licensing and encourage small farmers to participate through cooperatives and technical assistance programs, but significant barriers remain, making Colombia a cautionary tale of rapid legalization mixed with inequality in market access.
The Colombian government is betting big: cannabis as a new export dream. Investors are circling, labs gleam with sterile white light, and young agronomists walk the rows with clipboards.
It’s impressive, but also complicated. The people who grew cannabis in the shadows—small farmers, indigenous communities—are often left outside the gates. Global trade loves efficiency, not equity.
“Sometimes we live no particular way but our own…” Colombia is trying to find its own way. Whether it succeeds depends on who gets a seat at the table.
Jamaica: The Sacred Flame
In Kingston, smoke isn’t just smoke—it’s prayer. Light a chalice with a Rasta elder and you’ll feel it: ganja as sacrament, ganja as connection to Jah, ganja as a way of life.
Tourists land expecting Marley posters and red-gold-green souvenirs. They get that, but the real Jamaica lives in the hills, in communities that suffered arrests, raids, and persecution for treating cannabis as holy.
Jamaica’s relationship with cannabis is spiritual, cultural, and stubbornly resilient. For decades, Rastafari communities smoked ganja as a sacrament, faced arrests, and endured the weight of prohibition while tourists flocked to beaches chasing Marley’s ghost. In 2015, the government finally decriminalized small amounts for personal use, and by 2018, it created a framework for licensed medical and industrial cultivation. Suddenly, the hills of St. Ann and Westmoreland were dotted not just with traditional farms but with licensed operations selling oils, tinctures, and wellness products. The intent was clear: honor tradition while opening the door to commerce.
But reality on the ground is messier. Walking through the hills, you see families who have grown ganja for generations watching outsiders and investors swoop in with paperwork and capital, transforming the sacred plant into a product for export. Legalization has brought opportunity, but it has also brought tension. The old rhythms of cultivation—passed down from grandfather to son—now compete with GMP-certified operations and government licensing. And yet, when smoke curls up from a chalice in a Rasta circle, the spirit of the plant persists, stubborn as ever, reminding anyone watching that Jamaica didn’t just grow cannabis—it taught the world how to love it.
Now, with decriminalization and a small medical market, Jamaica is cautiously commercializing. But ask around, and you’ll hear frustration: Rastafari communities who carried the culture for decades are often cut out of the profits.
Still, when the drums start and the chalice passes, the truth is clear: Jamaica gave the world its soul. “Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world…” Here, cannabis reminds us who we are.
Thailand: The Whiplash
Bangkok smells like exhaust, chili, incense, and now—weed. Not long ago, people were rotting in prison for possession. Then, almost overnight, Thailand swung the door open. Dispensaries sprouted on every block, neon signs luring backpackers and businessmen alike.
Thailand’s relationship with cannabis has been a whirlwind of extremes. Not long ago, possession could land you in prison, but in 2022, the government took a dramatic turn, decriminalizing the plant almost overnight. Dispensaries sprouted across Bangkok and Chiang Mai, neon signs glowing beside street food carts, offering everything from cannabis-infused teas to vape pens. Tourists snapped photos and locals experimented with new culinary creations, while the country positioned itself as Asia’s first large-scale legal market. It was bold, chaotic, and exhilarating—a country flipping the script overnight.
The new legislation came under the leadership of Thailand’s prime minister, who championed the law as a way to stimulate medical cannabis, wellness products, and agricultural exports. Yet the rollout has been uneven, with regulators still tightening rules around THC content, medical certification, and commercial licensing. Small farmers and traditional practitioners are caught in the friction between rapid commercialization and regulatory oversight, unsure how to benefit from a market that can change overnight. Walking through the city streets, you see the tension in real time: gleaming dispensaries next to herbal stalls run by families who’ve grown cannabis for generations, a microcosm of Thailand’s uneasy dance between heritage and modernity.
It feels like chaos, but also like opportunity. In one shop, you’ll find California genetics in gleaming jars. Around the corner, a grandma is selling cannabis tea based on recipes older than any law.
But the ground is shaky. Politicians are already talking about pulling it back, worried about tourism, crime, and image. For now, Thailand is high on the thrill of reinvention, a reminder that cannabis can transform a society in the blink of an eye.
Morocco: Smoke in the Rif
Drive into the Rif mountains and the air changes. Terraced hillsides, red clay underfoot, and everywhere—cannabis. For generations, families here survived by growing and pressing hashish, smuggled through Europe in bricks the size of bibles.
Now, Morocco has legalized cannabis for medical and industrial use. The hope is to pull farmers out of illegality and into legitimacy. But ask a farmer in Ketama if he trusts the government, and you’ll get a shrug. Regulation is a new language, one not everyone here speaks.
Morocco’s Rif Mountains have been the spiritual home of hashish for centuries, with terraced fields producing some of the world’s most coveted resin. For generations, families have pressed the sticky blonde bricks by hand, relying on traditional methods that have traveled across Europe, the Middle East, and beyond. In 2021, the government legalized cannabis for medical and industrial use, promising farmers a path into the formal economy. The idea was simple: take what was already thriving in the shadows and bring it into the light.
But the reality has been far messier. Global buyers now demand GMP-certified production, lab testing, and strict traceability, standards that are difficult—if not impossible—for small Rif farmers to meet. The same techniques that created Morocco’s legendary hash don’t easily translate to pharmaceutical compliance. Walking through the hills, you see the tension: traditional families watching outsiders with capital and machinery buy into licenses, while the world still salivates over the artisanal product they’ve perfected for generations. Legalization opened the door, but for many, it’s a door they can’t step through—proof that even in paradise, commerce is a complicated dance.
Still, the Rif feels eternal. Sitting on a hill at sunset, passing a pipe of sticky blonde hash, you understand: this is one of cannabis’s true homelands. “There comes a redeemer, and he slowly too fades away…” Whether legalization redeems the Rif or erases it is a story still being written.
Africa: The Sleeping Giant
Beyond Morocco, Africa stirs. Lesotho, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Malawi—names that once meant “illegal weed” now mean “licensed producers.” Investors whisper about African cannabis feeding Europe’s appetite.
The climate is perfect, the labor cheap, the history deep. But history also carries scars. Colonialism extracted Africa’s gold, diamonds, coffee, and cocoa. Will cannabis be any different?
There’s power here, if Africa claims it. Strains like Malawi Gold and Durban Poison aren’t just folklore—they’re global treasures. The question is whether the world will finally respect that heritage, or repeat the old story.
The Road Ahead
The global cannabis renaissance isn’t clean. It’s messy, uneven, thrilling, heartbreaking. It’s Amsterdam coffee shops changing by the minute, NorCal farmers clinging to craft, Mexican campesinos waiting for justice, Colombian exports humming under fluorescent light, Jamaican chalices burning with spirit, Thai dispensaries glowing neon, Moroccan hash fields shimmering in the heat, and even African genetics ready to burst into the world.
Cannabis is the eyes of the world now. What we see in it reflects what we choose to value: culture or commerce, people or profit, history or hype.
But as I have been on this global cannabis pathway for more than eighteen years now, it is clear that the journey changes you; it should change you. So it is with cannabis. It has always been about the journey—illegal, sacred, joyful, painful. And now, in this renaissance, it’s about whether we can hold onto its soul while opening it to the world.
The plant has always been watching us. Now it’s asking: what kind of world do you want to see?
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
Cover image made with AI
