Editors’ Note: “Freedom Fighter of the Month” has long been a popular feature in High Times Magazine, dating back to the 1990s. Today, we’re bringing it back as a monthly column. Send your nominations to kariboiter@gmail.com with the subject line “Freedom Fighter of the Month.” Tell us who you think we should recognize, why, and how to best contact that person, and we’ll add them to our growing list of unsung heroes to highlight in communities like yours.
Jason Washington is a man of conviction. It’s apparent in the way he speaks, the actions he’s taken, and the companies he’s built. Today, Washington is a self-made entrepreneur with successful businesses inside and outside the cannabis industry. But the path that brought him here is long, winding, and riddled with legal minefields.
Washington is among 34 state-licensed cannabis caregivers in Montana who were federally indicted after simultaneous raids on two dozen businesses across the state in 2011. But unlike 31 other defendants who pleaded guilty in exchange for leniency, Washington chose to go to trial. In a judicial system where 97% of cases are resolved through plea bargains, and an even smaller percentage are acquitted, the odds were stacked against him.
“Sometimes courage takes a different kind of person,” says Washington. “Even if I had gotten 20 years, I wanted my son to have an example of when you feel convicted and strongly about something, you stand up and you fight for it, no matter what it is. There’s right and there’s wrong.”
Six of Washington’s business associates were indicted along with him, from the head of cultivation to his accountant. Absent from the indictment were two of Washington’s business partners. Washington believes their cooperation with prosecutors played a pivotal role in the case. “There should have been nine of us,” he recalls. “My business partners took a different path,” he adds, referencing court records.
Federal prosecutors deployed standard tactics in the case. Charges were stacked to maximize the probability of stiff sentencing, which was then leveraged to tempt co-defendants into guilty pleas in exchange for reduced charges or a lighter sentence. An otherwise weak legal argument was bolstered by star witnesses, who were offered immunity in exchange for their testimony at trial.
Conspiracy charges also meant Washington was held accountable for the alleged crimes of his co-conspirators, including firearms violations, which trigger mandatory minimum sentences.
“It’s so elementary in a sense of it’s just so predictable,” declares Washington. “Now you wanna charge me with guns because you vindictively know that your case is weak.”
As Washington points out, “Everybody in the state of Montana has guns. It’s just a part of our culture up here. That’s just what it is. Growing up in California, I didn’t have guns.”
Washington’s case is not only unique because of his choice to take his case to trial, a constitutional right that is typically exercised by just 2% of federal defendants. Out of 34 people indicted, Washington was the only person of color. In fact, at the time his businesses were raided in November 2011, he was the only Black dispensary owner in the entire state of Montana, and its largest provider.
“I’m not going to shy away from or cover up the fact that I believe there was a race component that was a part of it,” states Washington. “I also believe that the people in power didn’t like medical cannabis. They didn’t like that they didn’t have control over it. They didn’t like that there was no way for them to generate taxes because we don’t have sales tax in the state.”
The raids and indictments in Montana had a chilling effect that lingered for nearly a decade. The feds sent a clear message by targeting the largest, the most compliant, and the boldest caregivers statewide.
“Once they raided us, that effectively, at least on the western part of the state, really shut down all the rest of the stores,” remembers Washington. “I don’t know anybody who stayed open after we got raided. Everybody was kinda scared and went into hiding and went underground.”
Five of Washington’s co-defendants wound up pleading guilty. The indictment against his accountant was dismissed in the weeks leading up to trial, primarily due to the influence of world-famous criminal defense attorney and trial lawyer Tony Serra, who is widely known in legal circles as the “Master of the Hung Jury.”
While Washington was rightfully acquitted of a firearms charge at trial, he was found guilty of Conspiracy to Manufacture and Distribute Marijuana, along with Possession with Intent to Distribute. He was facing a five-year mandatory minimum sentence, with the possibility of up to 40 years in prison and a $5 million fine — until Judge Dana Christensen intervened.
“(He) was my guardian angel,” Washington says unequivocally. “He was not like some of those other judges… you know, they call that one judge out of Great Falls ‘Hang ‘Em Haddon.’ Had I been in front of him, I probably would have went to jail for 100 years. But Judge Christensen was progressive in the fact of, this is a broken system.”
Christensen skirted precedent when he departed from the mandatory minimum and sentenced Washington to 24 months in prison. The exceptional move prompted the U.S. Attorney to appeal the decision in the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals, all the while Washington was serving his sentence at Taft Correctional Institution in California.
By the time the ruling came down from the 9th Circuit, Washington was wrapping up his sentence at a halfway house in Butte, Montana. With the 9th Circuit vacating the sentence and remanding the case back to Judge Christensen, Washington was immediately taken back into custody by U.S. Marshals.
“Going from prison to halfway house back into county jail, really, I think angered Judge Christensen,” recalls Washington. “He said, ‘I don’t think I gave him too little time, I think I gave him too much time,’ and he reduced my sentence even more.”
Washington was free to go that day.
Since October 2014, he’s been steadily rebuilding his empire. Today, Washington is the founder and CEO of Kulture, Inc., which operates in multiple states and countries internationally. The full-service cannabis agency, based in Oakland, CA, specializes in everything from brand incubation, product development, distribution and retail strategy to compliance navigation, cultivation management, consulting and partnerships. Popular brands under the Kulture umbrella include Flwr, De Terra, Gooey Butter, Klothing by Kulture, Dope Conversations, and Plants Over Pills.
“It’s a message,” Washington says in regard to Plants Over Pills. “‘Let’s use natural remedies and get off the pills because we can do that.’ And that stemmed from personal childhood friend experience, as well as the number of people that I was incarcerated with who were a) addicted and/or b) on the supply side of the opioid fentanyl crisis.”
Washington incorporates systemic transformation into the mission of each of his brands. Plants Over Pills, for example, dedicates a portion of its proceeds to fund scholarships for people who want to attend substance abuse treatment but can’t afford it otherwise.
Above all, as a Black entrepreneur in a predominantly white industry, Washington hopes to create opportunities for other legacy providers like himself to carve out a niche in an oversaturated marketplace.
“We didn’t get into cannabis just for the green rush,” Washington underscores. “We’re in it for the long haul, we’ve been in it. The plant chose me, I didn’t even choose it. And I’ve been 100% since 2009, so here we are what, 15 years later, still doing the work of the universe.”
The views expressed are those of the interviewee and do not necessarily reflect the views of High Times.
