Michigan's Medical Marijuana Industry Was Crushed by Raids and Seizures in the Early Years of Legalization
When Michigan voters approved marijuana for medical use in 2008, they were sending a powerful signal: patients should be able to access cannabis without fear. However, what followed was anything but what many expected.
Instead of adapting to the will of voters, law enforcement agencies and prosecutors across Southeast Michigan aggressively resisted it, using raids, asset seizures, selective prosecutions, and intimidation to shut down early cannabis businesses and punish those behind them. For one entrepreneur, Ryan Richmond, this meant harassment, repeated raids, charges, and ultimately a stint in federal prison.
Richmond's story is recounted in his new memoir, "Capone of Cannabis," which offers a detailed account of the chaotic years before Michigan created a formal regulatory system. The book blends memoir and investigative reporting, drawing on court records, media coverage, and Richmond's own experience as a co-founder of Clinical Relief, one of Michigan's first medical marijuana dispensaries.
The raids were relentless, with patients being detained at gunpoint while attempting to legally obtain their medicine. Richmond describes elderly patients and people with serious medical conditions being tackled to the floor and held at gunpoint, all for simply trying to access their prescribed cannabis. The goal was not public safety but sending a message.
One of the book's central allegations is that asset forfeiture became a routine enforcement tactic against cannabis businesses. Richmond argues that prosecutors and tax authorities weaponized 280E of the federal tax code to punish legal cannabis operators in Michigan, even as enforcement priorities shifted nationally.
The state's failure to regulate created conditions for abuse, with voters passing the law but the system never catching up. Dispensaries operated in a gray area while law enforcement continued to treat them as criminals. Richmond was ultimately sentenced to two years and served time in federal prison, becoming one of the only Americans sent to prison over the application of 280E to a cannabis business.
The industry has come a long way since then, with Michigan having one of the largest cannabis markets in the country. Dispensaries operate openly, taxes go to state and local governments, and marijuana enforcement has largely faded into the background. However, Richmond argues that progress came at a cost paid by early operators who were crushed before the industry was fully regulated.
"We were the test cases," he writes. "And once they were done with us, the state moved on." The story of Michigan's medical marijuana industry is one of resistance and survival, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming opposition, the power of the people can prevail.
When Michigan voters approved marijuana for medical use in 2008, they were sending a powerful signal: patients should be able to access cannabis without fear. However, what followed was anything but what many expected.
Instead of adapting to the will of voters, law enforcement agencies and prosecutors across Southeast Michigan aggressively resisted it, using raids, asset seizures, selective prosecutions, and intimidation to shut down early cannabis businesses and punish those behind them. For one entrepreneur, Ryan Richmond, this meant harassment, repeated raids, charges, and ultimately a stint in federal prison.
Richmond's story is recounted in his new memoir, "Capone of Cannabis," which offers a detailed account of the chaotic years before Michigan created a formal regulatory system. The book blends memoir and investigative reporting, drawing on court records, media coverage, and Richmond's own experience as a co-founder of Clinical Relief, one of Michigan's first medical marijuana dispensaries.
The raids were relentless, with patients being detained at gunpoint while attempting to legally obtain their medicine. Richmond describes elderly patients and people with serious medical conditions being tackled to the floor and held at gunpoint, all for simply trying to access their prescribed cannabis. The goal was not public safety but sending a message.
One of the book's central allegations is that asset forfeiture became a routine enforcement tactic against cannabis businesses. Richmond argues that prosecutors and tax authorities weaponized 280E of the federal tax code to punish legal cannabis operators in Michigan, even as enforcement priorities shifted nationally.
The state's failure to regulate created conditions for abuse, with voters passing the law but the system never catching up. Dispensaries operated in a gray area while law enforcement continued to treat them as criminals. Richmond was ultimately sentenced to two years and served time in federal prison, becoming one of the only Americans sent to prison over the application of 280E to a cannabis business.
The industry has come a long way since then, with Michigan having one of the largest cannabis markets in the country. Dispensaries operate openly, taxes go to state and local governments, and marijuana enforcement has largely faded into the background. However, Richmond argues that progress came at a cost paid by early operators who were crushed before the industry was fully regulated.
"We were the test cases," he writes. "And once they were done with us, the state moved on." The story of Michigan's medical marijuana industry is one of resistance and survival, a reminder that even in the face of overwhelming opposition, the power of the people can prevail.