Solving the wrong problem

State Rep. James Talarico recently likened Texas’ THC ban to Prohibition: “This bill is not gonna stop Texans from smoking … instead of getting it safely from a local small business, they’ll now get it from the black market. From the cartels.”

The point is clear: Bans don’t stop demand; they redirect it. Although there is real concern, especially for seniors and veterans who benefit from regulated cannabis, it’s a distraction from the bigger crises: meth use, synthetic drugs, and their ties to America’s mental health epidemic.

We must also recognize that this THC tap-dance our opposition has done for the better part of a decade is a distraction from the actual matter at hand: Most marijuana in the U.S. is grown domestically, with legal supply from neighbors like Canada, highlighting that cartel influence isn’t the central issue.

While I support Talarico and his enthusiasm to fight against the bill, that went into effect March 31, banning smokable THC products, the idea that Mexican drug cartels still dominate the cannabis supply in Texas is a little, umm, dated. It makes for good political talking points, sure.

But it doesn’t reflect what’s actually happening on the ground.

The modern Texas weed market is far less “border cartel pipeline” and far more “local, decentralized, and increasingly homegrown.”

Since the 2018 Farm Bill and Texas’s own House Bill 1325 in 2019, hemp-derived cannabinoids have quietly turned into one of the state’s fastest-growing industries. Between 2020 and 2023, hemp product sales in Texas surged by 1,283 percent, reaching $2.78 billion. By 2025, the market had expanded to roughly $5.5 billion in annual sales, supporting more than 53,000 jobs and generating more than $268 million in tax revenue.

That’s not cartel economics; that’s small business, retail storefronts, and a supply chain rooted firmly inside the U.S.

Alongside this illegal boom is a quieter, harder-to-measure shift: localized, small-scale growing.

Hemp legalization created an enforcement gray area, making it difficult for law enforcement to distinguish between legal hemp and illegal marijuana without lab testing. The result?

Many low-level possession cases have been dropped, and the practical risk of small-scale cultivation has decreased. You don’t need a cartel when supply can come from someone’s spare bedroom, backyard greenhouse or a friend-of-a-friend network.

The market has fragmented, and, in doing so, it has localized. Yet, policy hasn’t quite caught up with reality.

Texas continues to frame cannabis as a border issue, as though tightening enforcement at the Rio Grande will meaningfully disrupt supply.

But when supply is increasingly domestic, that approach starts to look like solving the wrong problem very efficiently and stoking efforts to perpetuate stereotypes.

As of April 10, Travis County District Judge Mayra Guerra Gamble has lifted the ban temporarily, until another scheduled hearing on April 23. So the situation there could be changed by the time you read this.

The logic is familiar: Reduce access, reduce harm. But even supporters acknowledge the obvious catch: Marijuana possession remains illegal; enforcement is inconsistent, and demand hasn’t magically disappeared.

If anything, history suggests the opposite outcome: When legal supply is restricted, consumers don’t quit; they pivot. When consumers leave regulated storefronts, they don’t stop buying; they just stop buying legally.\

And that’s where policy starts to undermine itself. Rather than shrinking the market, these restrictions risk pushing it back underground, where there are fewer safeguards, murky product standards and — ironically — more room for the kind of illicit activity lawmakers claim to be targeting.

Meanwhile, the economic fallout is immediate and very real. Hemp retailers — many of them small, independent businesses — often derive 25 to 40 percent of their revenue from smokable products. Removing that category isn’t a minor adjustment; it’s a structural hit.

Add in sharply increased licensing fees and compliance costs, and you’re looking at an industry squeeze affecting more than 8,500 businesses statewide.

For a state that prides itself on being pro-business, it’s a curious way to treat a sector that has created tens of thousands of jobs and billions in economic activity.

Then there’s the larger question of priorities. While THC dominates legislative debates, other drug crises continue to unfold with far less attention, most notably methamphetamine use, which remains a serious and often under-discussed issue, including within the LGBTQ+ community.

Meth carries a far higher risk profile than cannabis, with well-documented links to addiction, mental health deterioration and overdose. Yet it rarely commands the same political urgency.

It’s hard to ignore the imbalance. Cannabis — now partially regulated, widely used, and comparatively lower-risk — gets the spotlight, whereas meth — more dangerous, more disruptive, and more urgent from a public health standpoint — stays in the dark.

Policy, in this case, seems less aligned with harm reduction and more with optics.

All of this points to a simple but uncomfortable truth: The cannabis landscape in Texas has already changed.

It’s no longer dominated by cartels; it’s shaped by domestic production, small businesses and decentralized networks Trying to control that reality through Prohibition-style measures and border-focused rhetoric doesn’t just miss the mark, it risks making things worse.

A more grounded approach would accept what’s already happening. Regulate intelligently.

Protect consumers. Support small businesses that are operating in good faith. And shift attention toward the drug crises that are actually causing the most harm.

Because if policy is going to be tough, it should at least be tough on the right problems.

To learn more about Small Business in Texas and become a member of the Texas Democratic Small Business Caucus, contact Caucus Chair Annette Krausse at 214-507-1283.