Reviewed
by Ariane Conrad Hyde
06.21.05
Envision an end to the hypocrisy of federal marijuana policy
in the US—with the persecution of potheads on one extreme, and full
endorsement of prescription drug users on the other. Imagine a place and
time in which marijuana is no more noteworthy than chamomile, ginseng,
or echinacea, where a public education campaign that rejects fear-based
rhetoric starts early: like, in grade school.
Brooklyn artist Ricardo Cortés has created a children’s picture
book to introduce the fabled herb in an objective and unthreatening light.
It’s Just A Plant, proclaims the title, while the cover
depicts a tiny, innocuous seedling dwarfed by surrounding palms and agapanthi.
To be clear, the point is not to encourage consumption of the plant by
the book’s target audience: ages 6-12. Recent findings by Israeli
scientists on the benefits of cannibinoids in pediatric medicine notwithstanding,
Cortés’ message is very clear: It’s too strong a medicine
for children, and is a decision for an adult to make, “like driving
a car or drinking a glass of wine.”
Jackie, the 8-year-old protagonist of IJAP, hears this from smart Doctor
Eden. The doctor’s office is the second stop Jackie and her mother
make on an investigative odyssey prompted by Jackie’s discovery
of her parents lighting up their funny-smelling cigarettes one night.
Jackie’s first stop is Farmer Bob’s, where, somewhere between
the corn, avocados, strawberries, mint, and limes, a few marijuana plants
squat. Farmer Bob doesn’t smoke, but tells Jackie all the kinds
of folks who do: artists and doctors, teachers and scientists—even
presidents.
Even police officers might toke up, is the sense you get from the particularly
patient and rational cop whom Jackie encounters near the end of her travels.
You might also get this sense from the book’s acknowledgements,
which include a nod to “mates at the NYPD (you know who you are!).”
The officer makes it clear, though, that it is illegal, and that it’s
the job of the police to enforce the law, regardless of what they might
personally feel.
Without losing her composure, Jackie’s mother acknowledges the herb’s
illegal status and voices her disagreement with the law. Granted, Jackie
does not go where many children surely would have gone at 8, which is
to screech, “You and daddy are doing something illegal!”,
the response to which would have provided helpful modeling for interested
parents considering sharing the book with their offspring.
All in all, though, the book is a great tool. Given that statistics show
that kids whose parents talk to them about drugs are 50% less likely to
experiment, while on the other hand, Partnership for a Drug-Free America’s
reports show that the number of parents who do not discuss drugs with
their kids is growing, it’s clear that tools are needed.
As Marsha Rosenbaum, PhD, director of the Safety First project and the
San Francisco office of the Drug Policy Alliance writes in IJAP’s
epilogue,
“In America today, where as a society we regularly imbibe and medicate
with a variety of legal and illegal substances, the door to drug use is
already wide open. To deny the reality of the role of drug use in our
culture, to cling to worn-out doomsday messages, and deny our kids help
and support when they need it, is to expose them to risk and danger far
beyond marijuana use.”
Beyond the whole message about the good herb, there are other positive
things going on in the vivid pages of IJAP. Jackie’s ambiguously
multiracial family is healthy and loving; both the doctor and the police
officer are strong women of color role models; and the folks depicted
within the legalization movement span almost every form of outward diversity—including
age, class (as denoted by suits vs. jeans), and skin color.
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