Next month, a sweeping federal law nicknamed the “Green Light Bill” is set to shutter almost all of the cannabis shops across the nation. This bill also fast-tracks the right to work and opens paths to citizenship for undocumented immigrants.
“It’s been an emotional journey,” says the bill’s co-sponsor, Congresswoman Griffonia Perez- Kay. She nods at protestors who wave a sign scrawled with the question: “Is Your Child Under the Care of A Pot Head?” I’m sure these people have better things to do,” she says, “but yeah, we had to make some trade-offs, just like any piece of legislation. And with the pot industry crash, there was a window to pass immigration reform.”
“The weed shops were traps that kept my community down,” explains Maya Lunes, a 40-year resident of Brooklyn from El Salvador who has been undocumented for decades. She is a staunch advocate for the new law. “They needed to shut down for us to move forward,” says Lunes.
And yet the cannabis industry, with its reparations-adjacent promises to reverse the damage from the racist War on Drugs, was popular with many and employs tens of thousands. Those employed in the industry will be offered unionized jobs in childcare programs, but “It’s not going to float everyone’s boat,” says Perez-Kay. “But let’s talk about the expansion of the green card program, and how one affects the other.”
"When you grow up with three cannabis shops and a liquor store on your block, you've got a trap set right next to you. You watch people you love get caught in it, and it breaks your heart."
Maya Lunes’ life has been intertwined with the struggles of her Central American community. Due to the complex and long-unreformed US immigration system, three-quarters of a million undocumented immigrants now live in New York, with El Salvadorans highly represented among them. They do some of the hardest, most dangerous, and lowest-paid jobs—loading drones for delivery, maintaining the massive Summer heat domes designed to cool wealthy neighborhoods like Park Slope, and maintaining frozen bodies of wealthy clients in cryogenic storage.
“To be honest, I felt resentment,” says Lunes. “When you grow up with three cannabis shops and a liquor store on your block, you’ve got a trap set right next to you. You watch people you love get caught in it, and it breaks your heart.”
Maya’s stepfather, a diligent superintendent who once secured free housing for her family, fell victim to that very trap, spending long nights at cannabis shops, eventually costing him his job and pushing their family into financial hardship.
They do some of the hardest, most dangerous, and lowest-paid jobs—loading drones for delivery, maintaining the massive Summer heat domes designed to cool wealthy neighborhoods like Park Slope, and maintaining frozen bodies of wealthy clients in cryogenic storage.
For the past ten years, Maya has been running an art program for kids out of a rented storefront in Sunset Park, but her dream has always been to teach in NYC public schools. Now, with her legal status secured, that dream is within reach. “It’s strange,” she admits with a wry smile. “My people have been beaten down, but we’re also sort of taking over the city, taking over in a way, and it feels weird. But it’s also empowering. We’re not just surviving anymore; we’re thriving.”
A bipartisan coalition of the Clean Living in Christ Caucus and the Immigrant Rights Coalition joined together to pass the bill.
"My people have been beaten down, but we're also sort of taking over the city, taking over in a way, and it feels weird. But it's also empowering. We're not just surviving anymore; we're thriving."
Their moment arrived when Buds, the popular cryptocurrency backed by cannabis reserves, crashed last April, leading to massive losses for investors and growers who tied their crops and supply chains to the coin’s value, destabilizing the legal cannabis economy. In addition, a flaw in automated smart contracts used by cannabis producers triggered a series of unexpected crop sales to China, with the crop burned publicly in the port of Shanghai, leaving US dispensaries empty. Industry leaders were too tied up in lawsuits to fight the swift legislation.
Maya’s apartment, clean and spacious, is a far cry from the cramped conditions of her youth. She teaches at her old high school, but she still sells her paintings on the side, a reminder of her creative spirit and the resilience that has carried her through. “I’ll never leave New York,” she says firmly. “This is my home, and I finally feel safe here.”