In June 2014, Maureen Dowd published a column that has since acquired legendary status in drug-policy circles. In it, the New York Times writer recounted her experience trying a marijuana candy bar on a visit to Denver not long after Colorado legalized pot. After a calm first hour, the drug plunged her into a personal hell: panting, shudders, confusion, deep paranoia. Eventually: “I became convinced that I had died, and no one was telling me.”
Social media gently mocked Dowd when her column first appeared: silly Boomer, she didn’t dose it right — couldn’t handle the ride. Momentum for legalization was gathering back then, driven by the anti-antidrug Left, the free-market Right, and lobbyists and entrepreneurs who could just hear the cha-ching sounding from the next big vice industry. Twenty-three states plus the District of Columbia would follow in Colorado’s footsteps in the decade that followed.
The picture of weed shared by many older Americans, drawn from their own college years, helped ease the path of legalization. Weed, the mellow drug. The Cheech-and-Chong drug. The Grateful-Dead-road-trip drug. The munchies drug. The drug that, if anything, makes you overly cautious behind the wheel. Dowd thought of marijuana along similar lines — that is, until she tried the legalized stuff for herself and nearly lost her ever-loving mind.
Since then, weed potency has only intensified, with some concentrates reaching near-pure levels of THC, the plant’s primary psychoactive compound. Only now are policy makers and opinion elites reckoning with what Big Weed has wrought: “turning a drug that used to be 5% THC, and made people pass out for a few hours and eat Cheetos, into one that triggers psycho killers,” as Kevin Sabet, a former drug adviser in successive Democratic and GOP administrations, tells me.
Sabet admits that such talk can make him sound like Reefer Madness, the classic anti-weed propaganda film from 1936. “But if you look at almost every single mass shooting in this country, there are many common denominators, and one of them is a substance. And it’s not alcohol, and it’s not meth, and it’s not fentanyl. So you can guess what it is. It’s marijuana.”
Take Robert Westman, the 23-year-old who murdered two children and wounded 30 people in a gun rampage at a Minnesota Catholic school in August. In his diaries, Westman, who both used weed and worked at a dispensary, blamed the drug for his violent tendencies. “Gender and weed fucked up my head,” he wrote. “I wish I never tried experimenting with either. Don’t let your kids smoke weed or change gender until they are, like, 17.”
A 2025 study, published in the East Asian Archives of Psychiatry, found a definite and growing link between US mass-shooting perpetrators and the use, possession, and distribution of cannabis. Moreover, the researchers found that younger mass killers are more likely to be involved with marijuana. They concluded that the drug is particularly harmful to “subgroups of individuals” prone to such violent eruptions.
Even if they don’t go full Columbine, young people who regularly use today’s high-potency varieties are at elevated risk for psychosis, per a 2019 study published in Lancet Psychiatry. King’s College London, home to the lead author, sums up the grim finding: “In cities where high-potency cannabis is widely available, such as London and Amsterdam, . . . a significant proportion of new cases of psychosis are associated with daily cannabis use.”
Things have gotten so bad that The Guardian, which once pooh-poohed concerns about weed, now regularly runs warnings about its adverse effects on health (it doubles the risk of heart death, to mention just one recent finding). Most recently, the paper took readers inside a pioneering London clinic specially dedicated to addressing cannabis psychosis. It’s a crisis that goes far beyond a typical “bad trip,” shattering minds and leading many users to take their own lives.
“We are dealing with a fundamentally different drug,” says Sabet, “that has been genetically modified and bred by a powerful industry that we are now sanctioning and encouraging, and allowing to contribute to inaugurations.. . . The fact that we are allowing this, to me, that’s immoral.” Despite bipartisan opposition from a pro-weed lobby led by the likes of John Boehner, the former Republican House speaker, Sabet’s calls for limits have begun to break through.
Most notably, Sabet has led the campaign urging President Trump not to remove marijuana from Schedule I, the most serious category in the federal government’s scheme for classifying drugs. As he wrote in a widely read UnHerd essay, reclassification wouldn’t mean federal legalization. But it would grant the drug a false federal “imprimatur of being safer,” thus allowing Big Weed to enjoy tax deductions from which they are currently barred.
So far, Sabet’s campaign seems to have stayed Trump’s hand, even as the president has floated the idea of Medicaid coverage of marijuana products as a stress and pain balm for seniors. “This [reclassification] isn’t a priority for the president,” Sabet tells me. “But on the other hand, there are some lobbyists and maybe friends of his son-in-law and others in the business” who would benefit from rescheduling and its associated tax deductions, meaning Sabet’s work is far from over.
Kevin Sabet came to the drug problem from an unusual personal angle. Born in the Midwest to a Bahai family that left Iran before the 1979 Islamic Revolution, he remembers a childhood in which he didn’t know anyone who so much as drank. (The Bahai religion, which is persecuted by Iran’s ruling Islamists, preaches the unity of all faiths — and total abstinence). When he moved to Orange County as a teenager, his perspective was radically different from that of his peers. And what he saw of addiction encouraged him to fight it.
As an undergrad at the University of California, Berkeley, in the mid-’90s, he says, “I saw the influence of the [drug] culture. I saw marijuana shops before that was even a thing.” Then the rave culture arrived, giving rise to what he describes as a “mini-epidemic” associated with the hallucinogen ecstasy, also known as MDMA. As a student, he’d go to clubs and hand out postcards showing scans of drug-addled brains on one side, and a call-for-help number on the other.
His activism won him some attention in the press — and then a phone call from Barry McCaffrey, the retired US Army general then serving as President Bill Clinton’s drug czar. “I thought the call was fake,” Sabet recalls. But it wasn’t. Gen. McCaffrey was offering him a job as a speechwriter. Sabet accepted and moved to Washington before heading to Oxford to earn a master’s degree in social policy.
“Weed potency has only intensified, with some concentrates reaching near-pure levels of THC.”
After 9/11, many of Sabet’s friends went off to Afghanistan in defense of the homeland, and he felt guilty writing papers at “Oxford, of all places, a comfortable place.” As it happens, the White House called again — this time, the George W. Bush administration with an offer to hire him as a senior speech writer on drug policy. “ ‘We want you to serve your country,’ ” he remembers the caller saying. “ ‘We know you’re not a Republican, but we also know you’re not a Democrat, and that’s fine with us.’ ” (His politics, as far as I can tell, are: whatever will stop this scourge.)
Yet another White House stint came during the Obama administration, which tapped him as senior drug-policy adviser (by then he’d finished his master’s and a doctorate at Oxford). It was around that time, the 2010s, that marijuana legalization went from a pothead’s dream to a serious business and political enterprise. Weed, the legalizers said, is harmless. Sabet disagreed, and he published a book, Reefer Sanity, to push back against the complacent mythology.
The book, in turn, led to his founding of a restrictionist advocacy group, Smart Approaches to Marijuana, or SAM, today the most visible drug-policy organization in Washington (a telling indicator of the growing concern about Big Weed).
But why the focus on marijuana? Why not the likes of fentanyl or heroin? Marijuana, Sabet answers, “is the most dangerous drug in my mind because it’s the most misunderstood.” There was a time when one could “experiment” with pot as part of the transition to adult responsibility and success. “The marijuana of today is doing the opposite,” he says, potentially derailing a person for life. “It’s causing violence, it’s causing erratic people to lose any sense of reality.”
And it’s addictive, a truth that Americans are still reluctant to accept. Sabet recalls speaking to a large group about the addiction angle, only for a member of the audience to tell him during the Q&A portion: “I use it every day, Kevin, and I’m qualified to tell you it’s not addictive.”
The numbers say otherwise. As the Associated Press reported on Tuesday, regular use of marijuana has now outpaced drinking, with 18 million Americans reporting daily use, up from fewer than 1 million in the 1990s. In tandem, there has been an explosion in diagnoses of cannabis-use disorder — an insatiable craving for the drug that leaves people incapable of fulfilling ordinary responsibilities; 1 in 3 pot users suffers from it, with symptoms classified from mild to severe.
But aren’t alcohol and tobacco just as destructive? Why not call for a new Prohibition and extend it to cigarettes for good measure?
“The reason I would say that Prohibition wasn’t sustainable as a policy in America is because alcohol has been so ingrained in Western civilization, since before the time of the Old Testament.” Then, too, alcohol is associated with human sociality, and for most people, the substance and its effects leave the body after 24 hours. Not so with weed, which lingers for much longer and at a cellular level. Sabet thus dismisses the argument that we shouldn’t restrict marijuana until alcohol is under control: “That’s like saying my headlights are broken, and just to be consistent, I’m going to break my tail lights, too.”
As for smoking: “Ninety percent of the people who built the Brooklyn Bridge were smokers. They were smoking at the time they built the Brooklyn Bridge. They could function. Maybe it even made them concentrate better,” Sabet says. The cigarette — unlike tobacco itself — “is a relatively new invention.”
Lung-cancer deaths before the 1920s were almost unheard of. Only with the rise of a cigarette industry did the smoking crisis appear. And that, he says, is also what’s happening with legalized, industrial weed, a product hawked by growers chasing ever higher THC yields — mental health be damned. Moreover, as cigarette smoking rates decline, Big Tobacco is looking to enter the weed market, Sabet says.
So what to do now, beyond restriction (a cause that’s already lost in half of US states)? At the root of the drug crisis, Sabet thinks, is a “moral and spiritual breakdown.” Drugs, he suggests, offer too-easy answers to the search for meaning; or else they palliate the pain associated with modern life. Even so, Western societies can erect guardrails, for example by hindering the spread of weed advertising to ever-younger audiences.
As for those already trapped, Sabet sees a role for behavioral incentive systems, such as programs that offer cash rewards for addicts who don’t use — or ones in which they face a choice between doing time or going to rehab.
“I’m calling for a new effort on drugs,” he says, aware of the odium attached to the War on Drugs. “I don’t love the war analogy because wars have defined ends, or they should. And this will never stop. We will never stop having to stop drug use among young generations. . . . I embrace aiming for a drug-free society, even if it’s not possible. We’ve never had a violence-free society, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t want to aim for that.”
