Cannabis Advocate

I was born in Balmain, NSW, and I identify as part of the Stolen Generations. At a young age, I was institutionalised along with my two older half-brothers. I was about ten when I first pinched a bit of cannabis from one of them. Even then, I knew it was helping me cope with trauma I didn’t have words for. It gave me relief from a heavy, constant feeling of shame and guilt.

Throughout my life, I’ve been misdiagnosed, judged and labelled. Now, living with osteoarthritis and acute alopecia, some days it’s still hard to feel confident. Cannabis allows me to get through day-to-day life with ease and escape the shadow of the “bald lady” in the mirror who tries to hold me back. It lifts the fog and brings me back to myself. It’s always been my comfort, my safe space.

I’ve supported the cannabis movement ever since the old NORML days on Sydney Road in Balgowlah, where you could buy a brown paper bag full for $20. It was a true grassroots community that made me feel like I belonged.

More recently, I put my hand up to run for office with the Legalise Cannabis Party. Things took a turn, as they sometimes do, and I found myself facing that familiar darkness again. But cannabis helped me push through. With the support of people who care, I showed up anyway.

Not long ago, I was pulled over and drug tested. I still had Senate Candidate material stuck in the back window. I knew I’d test positive — I’d smoked the night before — but I wasn’t impaired. Still, I lost my licence for 24 hours. That was a month ago and I’m still waiting on the lab results.

This is the reality. The real organised crime is the system that criminalises peaceful people like me. It’s the laws that ban home-grow and treat police like middlemen in a war against medicine.

I still hope to run again, to be chosen as a Senate or Legislative Council candidate. And if I win, I’ll be in the faces and ears of every politician who stands in the way of cannabis legalisation. Because imagining that moment? It feels bloody good.