Equity in the cannabis industry cannot truly begin until we free those still incarcerated

I was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison for cannabis — a substance that is now legal in many parts of the country and fueling a multibillion-dollar industry.

A decade of my life was taken for a plant that has since been normalized, commercialized, and celebrated. I was caught in a system that criminalized my very existence, while others built fortunes from it without consequence.

As a woman, incarceration also hit differently. I wasn’t just stripped of my freedom — I was stripped of my identity, my femininity, my sense of self. Anyone in prison faces trauma, but many women endure a unique kind: separation from children they not only cared for but gave life to, a lack of adequate healthcare that shortens or ends lives, emotional and sexual abuse, and the heavy emotional labor of holding families together from behind bars.

We carry that weight quietly. We mourn in secret. We survive because we have no other choice.

When I came home, I returned to a world that had changed without me. A world with glossy cannabis packaging, celebrity brands, and billion-dollar profits. I watched mostly white entrepreneurs build empires on the very thing that took so much from me. I came home to freedom that didn’t feel free.

Equity in America’s cannabis industry cannot truly begin until we free those still incarcerated. You cannot build a just and inclusive marketplace on top of this ongoing injustice.

No one should be locked in a cage for a substance that is now a legal, profitable industry. And yet, here we are. Thousands of people — disproportionately Black and Latino — are still incarcerated for cannabis offenses, many of them for nonviolent, victimless cannabis crimes.

We must reckon with the racial disparities that still plague cannabis enforcement even in legal states. In Pennsylvania, Black people are still three times more likely to be arrested for cannabis possession than white people, despite using at similar rates.

Many of these are people who grew up in neighborhoods that were underfunded and targeted by law enforcement. People who never had the privilege of selling cannabis with a business license.

People like me.

The hypocrisy is staggering. We live in a nation where someone can be arrested for cannabis possession in one zip code while a dispensary operates openly in the next.

President Joe Biden’s pardons were a start at achieving justice, but they didn’t go nearly far enough. We need bold federal action, and for governors in every state to follow suit. Polling shows Americans overwhelmingly agree: No one should be behind bars for cannabis. Elected officials have a responsibility to act accordingly.

But freeing those still incarcerated is only Step One. We also need automatic expungement of cannabis records that continue to block access to jobs, housing, education, and dignity. People deserve a chance to move forward without wearing the scarlet “F” for felon.

We need real reentry support, which means providing resources that acknowledge the trauma of incarceration and help people rebuild their lives. Too many are released with nothing: no money, no ID, no housing. Reentry shouldn’t be a second sentence.

And finally, we need true equity in the cannabis industry. That means creating space for formerly incarcerated people to lead, build, and thrive — not just participate, but shape the future of the industry they were once punished for being involved with.

Reform isn’t just about policy, it’s about people.

It’s about the mother who missed her child’s first steps.

The young man who aged from a teenager into an adult behind bars, while white tech bros got rich marketing THC gummies to the suburbs.

It’s about the grandmothers raising their grandchildren because their own kids are still locked up for the same thing now being celebrated as “green entrepreneurship.”

Legalization without liberation is not justice. Equity means freeing those still incarcerated, not just symbolically, but completely — through release, expungement, reentry, and opportunity.

I don’t speak out for myself; my time is served. I speak for the people still sitting where I was six short years ago. Those whose names and stories would still go unheard if not for people like me, who aren’t willing to let this large section of our community be forgotten while the industry profits soar.

What began as a tool of control, racism, and stigmatization has grown into a broader system that punishes anyone who was never meant to win.

It’s time our policies reflect the humanity of those who paid — and continue to pay — the highest price.

I know, because I paid it. I fight because I owe it to those left behind. Let’s bring them home.

Stephanie Shepard is an advocate and speaker who served a 10-year federal prison sentence for a victimless cannabis conviction. She now works to end cannabis incarceration and elevate the voices of those impacted by the criminal legal system. Follow her work on Instagram @lastprisonerproject.