The machinery behind cannabis convictions

The cost of the war on drugs cannot be explained by looking only at sentences. We also have to look at the laws that made them possible.

In the first part of this story, we asked how much a public policy can cost when someone ends up sick, elderly, or dead inside the prison system because of a cannabis-related offense.

Now we have to ask a different question:

How did those convictions become possible?

To a large extent, the answer lies in U.S. federal law.

For decades, cannabis was part of a federal system for classifying controlled substances that made it possible to prosecute not only possession, but also distribution, conspiracy, and trafficking offenses. The sentencing structures for these offenses could grow dramatically depending on the quantity of drugs attributed to the defendant.

Mandatory minimums were especially important.

The U.S. Sentencing Commission has documented that mandatory minimum sentences for drug offenses have led to long prison terms and significantly affected the federal prison population. It has also found that relief mechanisms—such as the safety valve and substantial assistance to the government—did not fully eliminate that impact.

That means the system did not always work simply like this:

offense → judge → sentence.

There were other variables:

The quantity attributed to the person.

The role they were alleged to have played in an organization.

Their criminal history.

The possibility of receiving a reduction.

Cooperation with the government.

And, in certain cases, the mandatory minimums Congress had established in advance.

The number could turn into years

For decades, federal law tied certain drug quantities to increasingly severe sentencing ranges.

That helped create a reality that can be difficult to reconcile with the transformation of cannabis policy in the United States.

While some states began legalizing medical marijuana and later adult use, the federal government continued to treat cannabis under its own criminal law framework.

And that gave rise to one of the most extraordinary contradictions in American policy:

An activity could be legal under state law and still be illegal under federal law.

For someone caught in that conflict, the fact that their conduct was accepted in part of the country did not necessarily protect them from the federal government.

Not all convictions were the same

It is important to make a distinction.

Not everyone imprisoned for cannabis was a user.

Current Sentencing Commission data primarily concerns trafficking cases, not simple possession cases.

In FY2025, the average federal sentence for marijuana trafficking was 44 months, and 85% of people received prison time. At the same time, 64% had little or no prior criminal history, according to the Commission’s criminal history categories.

That changes the conversation.

It allows us to move beyond two equally easy extremes:

“Everyone imprisoned for cannabis was an innocent victim.”

or

“They were all major traffickers who deserved any sentence they got.”

The reality is much more complex.

And that is exactly why it is worth studying.

When the law began to change

Meanwhile, the country started moving in a different direction.

States began legalizing medical marijuana. Then came adult-use markets. Dispensaries, publicly traded companies, regulated growers, and billions of dollars in economic activity followed.

But people convicted under the old rules could not simply walk out of prison because the country had changed its mind.

A policy shift does not automatically erase a court sentence.

And that brings us to another part of the machinery:

clemency.

In 2022, President Joe Biden issued a proclamation pardoning certain federal and District of Columbia offenses involving simple marijuana possession. In 2023, he expanded that relief to include certain convictions for possession, attempted possession, and use.

But there is a fundamental difference:

A pardon for simple possession is not the same as clearing a federal conviction for trafficking or conspiracy.

That is why thousands of people may benefit from a clemency policy while others, with much more serious convictions, continue to face decades in prison.

The system can change.

But it does not change in the same way for everyone.

And then there is aging

Here we come to one of the most difficult problems.

What happens when someone convicted decades ago no longer poses the same risk, is elderly, or has a serious illness?

The federal system provides for compassionate release, or sentence reductions for extraordinary and compelling reasons.

The Federal Bureau of Prisons has established specific criteria for considering sentence reductions for certain older prisoners with medical conditions. Its guidance included criteria such as being at least 65 years old and having served at least half of the sentence, along with specific medical requirements.

But a legal option does not mean automatic release.

A person has to apply.

They have to show that the circumstances qualify.

They have to go through the required process.

And each case can have a different outcome.

That is why age becomes a kind of clock inside prison.

The time someone serves does not just bring them closer to the end of their sentence. It also brings them closer to old age, illness, and questions about whether keeping them incarcerated still makes sense.

The contradiction that remains

The United States has profoundly changed its relationship with cannabis.

In 2025, the Sentencing Commission recorded only 389 federal sentences under the marijuana trafficking guidelines, representing just 2% of federal drug trafficking cases. The number of marijuana trafficking cases has fallen considerably in recent years.

But past sentences do not disappear with present-day statistics.

The men sentenced to decades in prison do not automatically get those years back.

Families separated from their loved ones do not get those decades back.

And those who died in custody cannot benefit from changes in the law.

So here is the real second part of this story:

The war on cannabis was not just a drug policy. It was also a legal architecture of penalties, incentives, and judicial decisions that could turn conduct involving a plant into decades of life in prison.

Today, the United States has to decide what to do with the legacy of that architecture.

That does not mean automatically releasing everyone who was convicted.

Nor does it mean declaring that every conviction was unjust.

It means asking a question that a society can and should ask when its laws change:

What kind of justice is owed to those still living with the consequences of a policy the country no longer applies in the same way?

Legalizing cannabis can change the market.

Changing the laws can change the statistics.

And granting a pardon can clear certain convictions.

But there is something no reform can give back:

time.