Reflections ►
The Moment I Became an Activist :
Why We Fail and How We Can Succeed
by Dolores Halbin , contributing writer
Instead of the hemp article I was planning ( tune in next month for Stoner Cows ), I decided to take a minute for that age old question , “ Why can ’ t we all just get along ?!” We have a vibrant Missouri Cannabis Community . But can we learn to disagree without disintegration ?
“ All for one and one for all , united we stand divided we fall .” Alexander Dumas , Les Trois Mousquetaires from D ’ Artagnan
My Beginning
I started high school in 1969 , a year after the My Lai massacre in Vietnam . This was our last war with a draft . Those with the resources to attend college full-time were exempt , leading to the John Fogerty song , I Ain ’ t No Senator ’ s Son . After My Lai , regardless of their loss of limbs , years of service , being held as POWs , and the fact most were drafted , soldiers who made it home were being called baby killers .
My brother ’ s best friend Mike , who I grew up getting piggyback rides from , was drafted immediately after High School Graduation . Six weeks later , I heard my brother sobbing on the back step , leaning into Mom ’ s arms . “ Mom , they shot his balls off . He ’ s a torso .”
This was the day I became an anti-war protester . I was 13 and starting my freshman year . Mike ended it for himself not long after his return — one of the 22 a day ... for over 50 years now .
The Great Divide
1960s Volker Park historical photo .
It didn ’ t take long to find my people . We wore black arm bands and spent weekends waving “ Bring Them Home ” signs in Volker Park on the Plaza ( no longer there ) in the late 60s . I remember being egged by people who didn ’ t like us supporting our soldiers . And I remember the day we showed up to all white people . “ Where are all the black people ?” my 17-year-old friend Nancy and I asked . “ They call themselves The Black Panthers now , and they ’ re having a separate rally ,” we were told .
We lived by the quote at the beginning from D ’ Artagnan , “ All for one ” and “ Divided we fall .” So , we did what any young , committed activists would do . We skipped school and drove Nancy ’ s 1955 Plymouth down to 11th and Paseo Blvd to find our black friends , and we attended the first Black Panther Rally in Kansas City , MO .
Maybe because we were the only two white people there , or maybe our Catholic School uniforms — gray ( short ) skirts , standard black and white saddle shoes of the 60s , white shirts with black armbands ( not standard ) — made us stand out , but for some reason , we attracted the attention of the media .
I am the only one of my five siblings with a three-syllable name . When Walter Cronkite came on the National 5:30 Evening News that day , my dad stretched those syllables out — Doooooo-looooo-rreessssss — so long , I remember thinking as I gingerly took those steps down to the living room to receive my sentence of being grounded for life , “ He should have been an opera singer .”
In 2014 , our draft papers for the Cannabis Wars came in the form of warrants for our arrests with a $ 25,000 bond each , followed by a week in jail for my husband ’ s little glaucoma garden . We signed on to all camps fighting prohibition ; Show Me Cannabis , which had twice attempted ballot initiatives , KC NORML , and even the lobbyist who dealt with our over-active legislators ( The DMV scene in the movie Zootopia comes to mind ). But there was also a local contingency that believed nothing short of “ cannabis as corn ” was worth fighting for , and medical was a waste of time , creating descent among the ranks .
In 2015 , our united efforts secured the release of Vietnam Veteran Jeff Mizanskey after serving 22 years for cannabis . Jeff was living ,