komrade komura
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The Fall of The Mississippi Sativa Cooperative
'Most of my friends are either anarchists or cannabis growers. Not only are they more interesting and infinitely more trustworthy, they always make sure I know the location of the nearest exit.' - Founding member 3, Mississippi Sativa Co-op, 1994
Rituals eventually melt into the trained reflex of examining a terrain at least once before entering. That has saved more people than can be counted. Most of our meetings were at each others homes with our wives in attendance. The safest organization is the closest one; one very close to a family unit but without all of the history and scars and rivalries. This meeting was not normal. But the Mississippi Sativa Co-operative was not a normal kind of organization.
The Mississippi Sativa Co-op was started in the 1994's by 4 young men from a local university whom all possessed a similar interest but with different skills. What caused the organization to happened occurred one year earlier. In ‘93 conditions became severe for the cannabis business in Mississippi, perpetual drought was the new normal. No weed anywhere, for anyone. Zilch, nothing, NADA! People were driving to Memphis, New Orleans, Mobile just to buy an ounce of unnamed smoke of shitty quality. Got money? So What! Ain’t nothing to be had. It hadn’t ever been like this and it didn’t look like it would ever end.
There were golden glory days in the 1970s when boats with large Colombian or Jamaican loads would hit the shallow docks and boat ramps near Gulfport and Pascagoula. The Mississippi Gulf Coast is full of many back water places known to only the locals or someone with a very detailed nautical map. Back then Mississippi was making backwater millionaires. Then it all came crashing down. The boats with their beautiful cargo moved on to safer ports in the Florida panhandle, where local cops were either dumber or came with a visible price tag. More than anything else, the golden age was ended by the murder of two men (James Brinley and Aaron Carter) and a truck of cannabis, worth over a million dollars, headed north from Gulfport in the early morning hours of another hot July day, 1975. After that everyone was just too damned scared to bring loads into Mississippi
Carter was black. Brinley was white. Police believed that it was a racial killing and investigated it as such due to racial slur written on Brinley’s chest and forehead. Yep, you guessed…that’s the word. The cops were blissfully unaware of the missing truckload of cannabis. Local klan members were questioned politely and discretely. Nothing. The FBI investigated it briefly but stopped caring after a couple of months. Again, nothing.
Narcotics detective Bobby Earl Patterson quietly took early retirement the next year and moved down to Mexico where he lived very comfortably (like a king) for several years until his karma finally caught up with him. The local Mexican police chief did not investigate his disappearance; he didn’t like the arrogant gringo since the first time they met.
The end of the glory days in the 70s coincided with the awakening of the white political establishment of the state to the effects of integration and voting rights. Can’t stop them blacks from registering to vote, unless they in prison….wonder what we can do to help make that happen. The result was an anti-crime police rampage against the black community ever since, even today. Down to the lowest levels of the supply chain, cops were sending young black men to prison for having any amount of cannabis. After a while and in the spirit of the New South the cops decided that it was attracting too much attention because all they ever busted were young black men, so they cracked down hard on thousands of white kids out smoking a joint with their friends too. At least the black ministers quit complaining.
The difference between white and black stoners in Mississippi for years was simple: blacks were usually charged with a felony while whites only with a misdemeanor. A convicted felon can’t vote in Mississippi.
Things were so desperate in 1993 that shipments from out of state stopped entirely for most of the year. State Troopers set up roadblocks on interstate highways, usually for some other official excuse but with the real purpose of stopping shipments of cannabis flowing into the state. They didn’t know it but they succeeded and all commerce ceased. The exception was one lone graduate student who made a monthly white knuckled and sweaty trip down to Florida to bring back 10 kilos, driving the back road two lane highways the entire journey. He didn’t have much of a choice. He had financed his entire university education by selling weed and was nearing completion of his Masters degree. His family was poor, he was smart, and education was the only way for him to break out of the cycle of poverty and ignorance that stretched far back in his family, as far as there was history. Soon he realized that there was less risk and better money at the wholesale level. The 1993 supply problem seemed solvable to the industrious young mind. It just had to be. The monthly trips were affecting his mental stability and he dreaded the hours of driving paranoia. This young man founded the cooperative, member 1. His Eureka Moment occurred in November 1993 on his last drive back from Florida.
1 was the botanist in the team. He had successfully grown cannabis for 2 seasons in an outdoor wooded environment, using seeds taken from the best smoke available. He had harvested a few pounds but quickly learned that a great grow followed by a crappy harvest and cure is just a crappy grow. Hauling fertilizers deep into the woods, developing an irrigation system, it was a lot of work for a single person. And while he understood the plant and could optimize its growth, he cursed every time he found another clogged irrigation tube and near dead plants desperate for water.
He needed skills beyond his field in order for the enterprise to succeed on a larger scale. He recruited from his school, searching for the brightest and best that he would carefully interview. They never knew they were being interviewed; only that he was friendly, passionate about botany and was the most honest person they had ever met. After about 3 months he had finalized the team. 2 was an accountant and handled all financial matters. 3 was a design engineer and the only one not a native son of Mississippi. 4 was the bad boy of the group, chosen for his ability to hurt people. Large but very smart.
3 was responsible for many of the workings principles of the cooperative. He introduced fair share ideas and a work ethic where the first question must always be ‘How can I help?’ Everything introduced was always subjected to a vote. This skill set for recruitment remained the same until 2000 when all financial matters were transferred out of team member hands during the revolution; the Revolt of the Wives as it was cynically recorded at the time, even though one of the strikers was male. The strike lasted less than a month, the team couldn’t hold out even one non-fucking month without sex before unanimously voting to transfer all financial responsibilities. They would stick to running the operation.
Outdoor plots (Deloreans in our gallows humor) are grown to give law enforcement statistics to report up to the state and federal level. Meanwhile the main operations continued to produce unimpeded. Cops just never figure out why the plots they raid are full of such poorly kept cannabis plants. One look at the widespread use of cheap slow release granular fertilizers and the lack of weeding would have been a sufficient clue for an intelligent cop, but luckily there aren’t many of those. These days they blame them on Mexican drug gangs pushing further inland from the border, especially since Mike started leaving hints. Each plots only receives 2 visits, once to transplant the 4 inch plants and another 3 weeks later to check on progress and apply the nutes; then nothing. 100 plants seized in a wooded area in the north east of the state. There were 10 Deloreans every year in the north of the state while the real production is in the south central, on 4 dairy farms around Hattiesburg.
The 10 sites are chosen over two weekends of camping. Not too easy to find, but not difficult either. Most years we have to call in tips on the majority of them near harvest time because local LEO never found them. And they are even planted in rows to make it easier to spot. Oh look a wooded area with the usual entropy of the universe arrangement. But wait. Over there. Those plants over there are all lined up in neat little rows….c’mon LEO how fucking hard is this shit!
Despite the good security arrangements, there have been occasional problems, including several close calls with police and in one instance, armed confrontation (1999). No member of the cooperative has ever been sent to prison or been arrested. Several members of LEO have been sent to prison for corruption and bribery after close encounters with the cooperative.
Proving a cop guilty of corruption requires only two simple elements beyond motive, unexplained large amounts of money and cannabis…..kind of our specialty. These days it is all much more technical; numbers on a laptop. In one instance, (1999) before my time, LEOs were not afforded the prison meal plan.
Since 2000, it has been an agreed policy that a Co-op member and his wife must both have a university degree. Actually that is not quite accurate, as two members of the grow team of 4 have been women so far and I know there is about to be a third one in December, as I am only considering women as my replacement. So to be quite accurate a Co-op member and his wife OR HER HUSBAND must both have sheepskins. My wife and another have arts degrees. They are responsible for running an adult education and entertainment program for the families. Jackson Pollock weekends are just great messy fun and the kids love them. Sometimes the paintings look really cool too.
Official apology( Since inception, we have supported gay marriage as we feel it is fair for a gay couple to be given a seat at the table…but until they are treated equal to the rest of us, legal testimony laws prevents this.)
Candidates were evaluated on many criteria, scored, the scores pass around anonymously and scored again by everyone. It was an adaptation on the Delphi group technique for consensus decision making and introduced by 8. Skills are important, but teachable. Maturity is not. Danny was our reminder. Thanks to the development of consumer level micro filming devices, the team could review every interaction between the sponsor and the candidate. There are several hours of MPEGS of each candidate in ordinary social interactions with the sponsor. They don’t know shit about what is really going on. The pen in the pocket seems harmless, the glasses normal and real, the button on the shirt matching the others. We even know whether they have good table manners,as most of the interviews occur over meals in a relaxed setting. We always get the spouse to attend too. The ladies love watching another woman for some reason. I am just looking to eliminate those with obvious flaws. Too arrogant, too egotistical and his cousin too insecure, passive aggressives, too greedy, too bitchy, too fucking you name it. Only one a year thankfully. I find it painful to judge others.
Due to term limits, starting with member 5, all past members have long since gone to warmer climes and drinks with little umbrellas in them. Like Palestinians, they don't have the right of return. They are required to fuck off somewhere else on the planet, outside of the USA and spend the rest of their lives watching sunsets on a beach or whatever. Any return to Mississippi will result in an untimely death….so departing members are encouraged to bring their parents with them or anyone else whom they may remotely give a fuck about. A 1 million price is on the head of anyone stupid enough to ever violate the terms of the cooperative’s operating agreement. Seems fair enough to me. No one has ever breached the terms. Term limits are 4 years, plus a 1 month transition…not a day longer. Every year one member enters and one exits.
In their final year the member is responsible for finding replacement candidates in their respective skill area, submitting them to a thorough background check before an offer is extended. Many are examined, one chosen…hot shots need not apply.
The leaving member acts as a sponsor and a guide for the assimilation of the inductee and their family into the co-op. Joining requires unanimous consent. The new family starts December 1st and officially takes the role January 1st.
By security custom all offers are extended while on an early November hunting trip. Our founding fathers, especially 4, in their wisdom, foresaw the potential for a last minute clusterfuck and wanted to provide the opportunity for last minute solutions. No one has ever turned down the invitation (to the best knowledge of three of the four current team). I am in my final year. That means I am the historian now and know differently.
To be continued…
