In 2018, 27-year-old Bryn Spejcher, an inexperienced marijuana smoker in California, killed her boyfriend Chad O’Melia by stabbing him 108 times, a crime the local district attorney described as “horrific” and “one of the worst our medical examiner has ever seen.” A jury found Spejcher guilty of involuntary manslaughter, but she received only probation at sentencing because of a compelling presentation of her defense of cannabis-induced psychosis. Prior to the violent incident, Spejcher had taken two hits of legal marijuana from a bong, and claimed that she began “seeing things that weren’t there” and lost touch with reality. She also stabbed herself repeatedly in the neck, and stabbed her own dog. Law enforcement agents called to the scene had to break her arm with a metal baton to get her to let go of the knife; multiple Taserings had no effect.
Cases like Spejcher’s illustrate the stakes involved in the federal reclassification of marijuana. If President Trump follows through with such a move, the drug would remain illegal on the federal level, but would receive an imprimatur of being safer and face fewer restrictions, with significant commercial and social implications.
Yet voices across public discourse persist in asking: why should anyone care if President Trump does just that?
Celebrities like Mike Tyson and Joe Rogan and hedge-fund bosses like Andrew Lahde tell us that marijuana is no big deal. Numerous states have already legalized it for medical and recreational usage, and they claim to be regulating it well. If we are to believe the advocates, marijuana is a miracle cure for PTSD, anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder — not to mention an unbeatable salve for the pain suffered by cancer patients.
So what sense does it make for this drug to sit in the same federal category as PCP and heroin? Isn’t marijuana’s placement in Schedule I, the most serious category, merely a relic of discredited thinking from the bad old days of the War on Drugs? It isn’t. To understand why it isn’t, and why a Trump move to reclassify weed would risk unmitigated harm to American health and safety, it’s first important to clear up some common misunderstandings around how and why drugs end up classified as they do.
Under the Controlled Substances Act of 1971, a five-part schedule was established for classification of potentially dangerous drugs. This schedule is emphatically not an index either of a drug’s “hardness” or a kind of unofficial charging and sentencing guide for prosecutors and judges. Placement is earned specifically through consideration of a drug’s accepted medical use and its abuse risk. Drugs with no accepted medical use and a high risk of abuse get placed in Schedule I.
That’s the commonality between marijuana and heroin; under federal law, the relevant agencies necessarily view them that way.
Neither has an accepted medical use, though both drugs have approved medicines derived from them that remain in lower schedules (the medicine dronabinol, for example, is synthesized THC, the active ingredient in marijuana, and is in Schedule III). Both have high risks of abuse. The argument that one is a “hard” drug and the other is not — which is debatable, especially given today’s ultra-high-potency weed — simply doesn’t come into play.
Nor does the criminal-justice question. Keeping marijuana in Schedule I isn’t, as critics have it, a carceral strategy; conversely, moving it into Schedule III isn’t a de-carceral one. Under a move to Schedule III, the drug would remain federally illegal, still subject to the enforcement power of the Drug Enforcement Administration and the Department of Justice. No low-level offender would see his sentence commuted. This is sort of beside the point anyway, since most low-level marijuana users never receive a sentence for anything.
But how can it be, another objection runs, that the drug has no medical use? Most US states currently allow doctors to recommend it.
That, again, is technically correct. But the decisions those states made to allow doctors (and in some cases, “designated caregivers”) to recommend marijuana to treat pain and other issues were political decisions, not medical or scientific ones. Voters stated a preference; that has no effect on how federal agencies are required by current law to view the question. The facts of just how those recommendations get handed out drive home that political aspect. In 2022, Pennsylvania saw some 132,000 medical-marijuana certifications, a third of the state’s total for that year, issued by only 17 doctors.
Those decisions, taken in the aggregate, don’t constitute an accepted medical use. Or at least, they didn’t until October 2022. That was the month the Biden administration directed its Department of Health and Human Services to look into a possible reclassification of the drug.
“This schedule is emphatically not an index either of a drug’s ‘hardness’ or a kind of unofficial charging and sentencing guide.”
Again, history is important here. Before the Biden process, the federal government had used an eight-factor test to determine how to schedule various drugs. Those factors focus on what the current and historical patterns of its abuse look like, as well as what that means for individual users, what risk it presents to public health, how likely it is to cause dependence (either physical or psychological), the state of the science around the drug and its pharmacology, and whether it’s a chemical precursor or “analogue” of another controlled substance.
By these metrics, marijuana is precisely where it belongs in Schedule I. The best science shows that it isn’t an effective medical treatment. One of the most frequent conditions it’s used to treat is chronic pain. But the 2017 study cited to prove its efficacy there has seen dozens of subsequent meta-analyses and reviews fail to support its conclusions; a 2022 study of a decade’s worth of surgical records from a Cleveland hospital even found that using marijuana actually increases pain after surgery.
The data also demonstrate that marijuana poses a significant risk of dependency: addiction rates are around 30% of all users and rising. Addiction in this case means exactly what it does for other substances: inability to quit, a need for ever more of the drug to achieve the same effect, and even withdrawal symptoms. Given the recent avalanche of data cataloguing marijuana’s harms specifically to cardiac and mental health — like a June British Medical Journal review connecting it to a two-fold risk of cardiovascular death or the massive Danish study from 2023 suggesting that as much as 30% of schizophrenia cases among men between 21 and 30 were linked to cannabis-use disorder — its wider public-health risks are glaringly clear.
The Biden administration supplanted the eight factors with a new system seemingly designed to push the drug into a less restrictive schedule. The Biden recommendation — likely a political compromise between the status quo and full legalization, timed just before Joe Biden’s re-election bid — also incorporated the shaky argument that because so many states have made political decisions to allow medical marijuana, that constitutes an accepted medical use.
An incisive article in JAMA Neurology, by the Harvard addiction scientist Bertha Madras, took a hard look at the process and found disturbing evidence of politicization. This included the fact that a high-ranking Biden DOJ official, Acting Assistant Attorney General Peter Hyun, argued that “cannabis has not been proven in scientific studies to be a safe and effective treatment for any disease or condition” — six months before the rescheduling directive appeared. Yet the science Hyun cites certainly had not changed in the interim.
The federal government has long held the position Hyun laid out. Under the Obama administration, Jay Inslee and Gina Raimondo — then the governors of Washington and Rhode Island, respectively — petitioned the federal government to reclassify marijuana. The administration’s response made clear that federal drug schedules reflect what the science says, not “danger” or “severity.” Obama’s then-DEA chief, Chuck Rosenberg, announcing the denial of the petition, used language Hyun would later echo: “This decision isn’t based on danger. This decision is based on whether marijuana, as determined by the FDA, is a safe and effective medicine . . . and it’s not.”
But let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that Trump reverses years of federal precedent to follow the logic of the rescheduling argument. What happens then?
The truth: no one knows.
It’s clear that the marijuana industry believes that rescheduling will be an enormous benefit to its shareholders. In one sense, that’s likely correct. Businesses selling substances in Schedule I face severe commercial restrictions under the tax code. A provision of the tax code prevents any such business from taking normal deductions at tax time on expenses like advertising. Lifting those restrictions seems sure to provide an enormous boost to revenues and reach for businesses selling marijuana products.
The impact on society is a different matter. The available evidence suggests that this will be a significant negative for society, especially given the research around how the young start using the drug: data published in June by researchers from the University of Southern California and Rutgers University show that exposure to marijuana social-media content plays a huge role in teens initiating use.
But there are other externalities in play.
If marijuana moves into Schedule III, it will be the only substance there without Food and Drug Administration approval. Will that play out in a similar way to the case of opium-poppy straw (i.e., the entirety of the plant, as it exists prior to the processes that turn it into heroin or opium)? Poppy straw is listed in Schedule II, but it also lacks an FDA approval — and it’s regularly seized by drug and border authorities, with a massive shipment grabbed up just in May. Though weed entrepreneurs clearly expect smooth sailing after a reclassification, they may well be in for a rough ride.
Then there’s the fact that substances listed in Schedule III face additional regulatory and enforcement power: Not only from the DEA and DOJ, but also from the FDA. There are strict rules around what sellers of Schedule III substances can and can’t say in advertisements. They’re forbidden from advertising off-label uses — and since marijuana lacks an FDA approval, all therapeutic uses are off-label. It’s easy to imagine another operator in the Schedule III space filing a lawsuit demanding precisely that kind of enforcement.
In other words, rescheduling opens the door to regulatory chaos, even as it seems certain to add commercial firepower to an industry whose products, on the evidence, are extraordinarily harmful. How this combination will produce the benefits promised by proponents of rescheduling also remains unclear.
The federal government shouldn’t signal to the American people that a drug that lacks medical or scientific imprimatur somehow possesses such approval. Others disagree — and vocally. They have a lot of money riding on it. But we should be crystal clear about what their preferred policy would actually mean for American society — nothing good.
