Katelyn Baker
Well-Known Member
This summer, the Big Valley Rancheria Band of Pomo Indians - headquartered along the shores of Clear Lake in Northern California - did something rare. Its chairman signed a memo of understanding with a Colorado-based company for the possible "cultivation, research, manufacturing and distribution of cannabis products."
That document, a copy of which was obtained by The Desert Sun, states that Green Grass Advisors would get 10 percent of gross revenues for seven years in exchange for the company's "experience, expertise and management services." The tribe agreed to put up a $20,000 retainer.
One of the company's affiliates would provide expertise on "cannabis and medical cannabis related products to the extent permitted on sovereign lands," while a second would provide medical cannabis guidance on tribal territory "and in legal cannabis markets."
It's not clear whether the deal was ever ushered to the next level, or how the parties intended to pull off this kind of arrangement.
Although California appears to be moving towards the legalization of recreational marijuana, the federal government has a very different approach to drug policy - willing to shut down large-scale growing operations on sovereign lands while allowing other tribes, in Washington, for instance, to own pot shops. Nationally, marijuana remains a schedule one substance, on par with heroin.
Earlier this year, the Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe of South Dakota scrapped plans to open the country's first "marijuana resort," fearing that their defiance of federal authorities would trigger a raid. Two outsiders, accused of helping the tribe with its plans, were hit with drug conspiracy charges.
Before walking away, tribal leaders estimated that their resort would yield $2 million a month profit. There is big money at stake, not only for tribes and companies but for cities. A couple years after averting bankruptcy, Desert Hot Springs sees jobs and badly needed tax revenue in marijuana cultivation.
Tribes throughout Southern California have been inundated in recent years with requests similar to the one made by Green Grass Advisors, but have taken a cautious approach, heeding, in part, the advice of local law enforcement officials.
Big Valley's chairman and administrator did not respond to multiple interview requests this week, nor did a company representative who signed the memo of understand on June 12.
"We have no comment," said Charles Gee, a Denver-area businessman who appears on the company's incorporation paperwork in Wyoming, when reached Wednesday by phone.
The U.S. Attorney's Office for the Northern District of California also did not respond to interview requests.
Big Valley is not the only tribe looking for a way into the marijuana business. Smaller ones, especially, have weighed the risks.
"This is an opportunity to generate considerable revenue and you can see how that would be attractive for tribes that don't have financial or natural resources," said George Forman, an attorney who represents the Morongo Band of Mission Indians and others.
Forman, however, said his clients have turned down those pitches, all of which rely on a misunderstanding of Department of Justice memos in 2013 and 2014. Those memos, which came in response to some states legalizing marijuana, lay out eight priorities for regional U.S. Attorneys who oversee tribal lands. Rather than legalize marijuana, the memos give federal prosecutors some discretion on how to interact with tribes while continuing to consult on a "government-to-government basis."
In Coachella, Darrell Mike, chair of the Twenty-Nine Palms Band of Mission Indians, said he's been approached by so many private cultivation companies that he lost track of their names. His tribe had been thinking about some of the offers until Riverside County Sheriff Stan Sniff talked him out of it.
"I'd rather keep my relationship with the county," Mike said. "It took so many years for us to work with them and now they don't view tribes as part of a third world government in the United States."
Similar talks with the San Diego County District Attorney convinced the Rincon Band of Luiseno Indians that the hassles of marijuana cultivation were not worth the potential profit. Council member Steve Stallings spoke of the "reputation risks" that come with being a target of a drug trafficking investigation, especially while you're trying to run a casino.
"I know people are being pretty aggressive about it and that's where the danger is," he said. "If you want to be a test case, that's your choice."
There is, nevertheless, a growing industry of tribal marijuana liaisons and consultants, as evidenced by the line-up at this year's Third Native American Marijuana Conference in Alpine, east of San Diego. For two days in December, the discussions inside the Viejas Casino & Resort will focus on what the industry's early "visionaries" and "pioneers" of marijuana have learned when it comes to banking and more.
Among the speakers is Blue Quisquis, president of Emerald Enterprise, Inc., who points to the Iipay Nation of Santa Ysabel in San Diego County as a model. After closing its casino in 2014, the tribe established its own "cannabis regulatory agency." Today, the tribe gives space to four medical marijuana producers on the site of its former casino and provides armed security, plus 24/7 video surveillance that can be quickly handed to authorities.
"Anything the DEA wants from local law enforcement, it's there," Quisquis said. "We're not trying to hide anything."
In a recent announcement, the tribe referred to its licensing, security, quality control and laboratory testing requirements as "arguably the most comprehensive in the country" and "a substantial benefit for the economic success of many tribal nations." The tribe doesn't actually cultivate the marijuana itself.
Santa Ysabel has spun-off its own marijuana consulting business in an attempt to teach others about the right and wrong way to get into the marijuana cultivation game.
Quisquis, a member of the San Pasqual Band of Mission Indians outside Escondido, doesn't deny that there are still obvious risks involved in these ventures. But he's confident that, with enough transparency and the right internal regulations, the risk of prosecution can be significantly reduced.
He encouraged anyone who's interested in but hesitant to join the business to take a closer look at a July 2015 raid in Modoc County involving a joint-growing scheme between the Alturas Indian Rancheria and Pit River tribes. That group's mistake, Quisquis said, was that they'd put together an unsophisticated operation, not that their operation was illegal in the first place.
A federal search warrant affidavit, written by a special agent with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, lays out some important dates and events. On March 20, 2015, two members of Alturas and their attorneys met with the Modoc County sheriff to inform him of their plans. In May, the Department of Justice issued the tribe a letter, warning of possible "enforcement" or "criminal prosecution."
The group carried on. Its attorneys presented a plan to the Modoc County Board of Supervisors for their facilities. By late June, authorities had determined that not all the Alturas members were happy about the cultivation business and that the operation was likely being financed by a Canadian cigarette-maker.
The U.S. Attorney's Office for the Eastern District of California never filed charges and declined to comment for this article, saying the investigation is ongoing.
Nevertheless, the July 8 raid sent shockwaves through Indian Country and might explain the silence of some leaders who were once willing to trumpet their marijuana plans.
Months before the Alturas raid, the Thermal-based Torres Martinez Desert Cahuilla Indians announced plans to partner with a Red Crow LLC, a Native American-owned marijuana-growing company, and sell to medical shops under the direction of the tribe's subsidiary, Sovereignty Medical Tribal Corp. The parties had been hoping to set up operations by the summer - expanding at a later date into Mecca - but there's no evidence that any of it ever got off the ground.
Chairwoman Mary Resvaloso deferred questions to Joseph Mirelez, another tribal council member, who confirmed that the cultivation plans never materialized, but declined to say why.
Only 15 days after the Alturas raid, Riverside County Sheriff's deputies shut down a marijuana-growing operation on the Cahuilla Indian Reservation - located between Temecula and Pinyon Pines - and confiscated a stolen assault rifle in the process. Thirteen people were arrested on suspicion of commercial marijuana cultivation.
"Private businesses approaching tribes and pitching marijuana cultivation as a business is nothing new," said chief deputy Lyndon Wood, who manages the sheriff's tribal liaison unit. "What I've seen is a lot of these businesses will come in and present facts that aren't quite true in an effort to entice some of the tribes into business...through promises of large dollar amounts."
Wood said he's had "consultations" with half a dozen tribes in Riverside County and would advise others to speak to their attorneys before rushing into any potential deals.
There's plenty of hope in Indian Country that Proposition 64 - by legalizing marijuana in the most populous state - will help soften attitudes, but also the awareness that tribes will remain caught between competing government interests. The upcoming Native American Marijuana Conference in Alpine is supposed to address some of these questions head on: Can casinos sell marijuana products? Can casinos establish marijuana lounges?
"Federal law," as Forman, Morongo's attorney, stressed, "is not changed by what state law does."
News Moderator: Katelyn Baker 420 MAGAZINE ®
Full Article: Tribes Advised To Tread Cautiously On Marijuana
Author: Jesse Marx
Contact: (760) 322-8889
Photo Credit: Omar Ornelas
Website: The Desert Sun
That document, a copy of which was obtained by The Desert Sun, states that Green Grass Advisors would get 10 percent of gross revenues for seven years in exchange for the company's "experience, expertise and management services." The tribe agreed to put up a $20,000 retainer.
One of the company's affiliates would provide expertise on "cannabis and medical cannabis related products to the extent permitted on sovereign lands," while a second would provide medical cannabis guidance on tribal territory "and in legal cannabis markets."
It's not clear whether the deal was ever ushered to the next level, or how the parties intended to pull off this kind of arrangement.
Although California appears to be moving towards the legalization of recreational marijuana, the federal government has a very different approach to drug policy - willing to shut down large-scale growing operations on sovereign lands while allowing other tribes, in Washington, for instance, to own pot shops. Nationally, marijuana remains a schedule one substance, on par with heroin.
Earlier this year, the Flandreau Santee Sioux Tribe of South Dakota scrapped plans to open the country's first "marijuana resort," fearing that their defiance of federal authorities would trigger a raid. Two outsiders, accused of helping the tribe with its plans, were hit with drug conspiracy charges.
Before walking away, tribal leaders estimated that their resort would yield $2 million a month profit. There is big money at stake, not only for tribes and companies but for cities. A couple years after averting bankruptcy, Desert Hot Springs sees jobs and badly needed tax revenue in marijuana cultivation.
Tribes throughout Southern California have been inundated in recent years with requests similar to the one made by Green Grass Advisors, but have taken a cautious approach, heeding, in part, the advice of local law enforcement officials.
Big Valley's chairman and administrator did not respond to multiple interview requests this week, nor did a company representative who signed the memo of understand on June 12.
"We have no comment," said Charles Gee, a Denver-area businessman who appears on the company's incorporation paperwork in Wyoming, when reached Wednesday by phone.
The U.S. Attorney's Office for the Northern District of California also did not respond to interview requests.
Big Valley is not the only tribe looking for a way into the marijuana business. Smaller ones, especially, have weighed the risks.
"This is an opportunity to generate considerable revenue and you can see how that would be attractive for tribes that don't have financial or natural resources," said George Forman, an attorney who represents the Morongo Band of Mission Indians and others.
Forman, however, said his clients have turned down those pitches, all of which rely on a misunderstanding of Department of Justice memos in 2013 and 2014. Those memos, which came in response to some states legalizing marijuana, lay out eight priorities for regional U.S. Attorneys who oversee tribal lands. Rather than legalize marijuana, the memos give federal prosecutors some discretion on how to interact with tribes while continuing to consult on a "government-to-government basis."
In Coachella, Darrell Mike, chair of the Twenty-Nine Palms Band of Mission Indians, said he's been approached by so many private cultivation companies that he lost track of their names. His tribe had been thinking about some of the offers until Riverside County Sheriff Stan Sniff talked him out of it.
"I'd rather keep my relationship with the county," Mike said. "It took so many years for us to work with them and now they don't view tribes as part of a third world government in the United States."
Similar talks with the San Diego County District Attorney convinced the Rincon Band of Luiseno Indians that the hassles of marijuana cultivation were not worth the potential profit. Council member Steve Stallings spoke of the "reputation risks" that come with being a target of a drug trafficking investigation, especially while you're trying to run a casino.
"I know people are being pretty aggressive about it and that's where the danger is," he said. "If you want to be a test case, that's your choice."
There is, nevertheless, a growing industry of tribal marijuana liaisons and consultants, as evidenced by the line-up at this year's Third Native American Marijuana Conference in Alpine, east of San Diego. For two days in December, the discussions inside the Viejas Casino & Resort will focus on what the industry's early "visionaries" and "pioneers" of marijuana have learned when it comes to banking and more.
Among the speakers is Blue Quisquis, president of Emerald Enterprise, Inc., who points to the Iipay Nation of Santa Ysabel in San Diego County as a model. After closing its casino in 2014, the tribe established its own "cannabis regulatory agency." Today, the tribe gives space to four medical marijuana producers on the site of its former casino and provides armed security, plus 24/7 video surveillance that can be quickly handed to authorities.
"Anything the DEA wants from local law enforcement, it's there," Quisquis said. "We're not trying to hide anything."
In a recent announcement, the tribe referred to its licensing, security, quality control and laboratory testing requirements as "arguably the most comprehensive in the country" and "a substantial benefit for the economic success of many tribal nations." The tribe doesn't actually cultivate the marijuana itself.
Santa Ysabel has spun-off its own marijuana consulting business in an attempt to teach others about the right and wrong way to get into the marijuana cultivation game.
Quisquis, a member of the San Pasqual Band of Mission Indians outside Escondido, doesn't deny that there are still obvious risks involved in these ventures. But he's confident that, with enough transparency and the right internal regulations, the risk of prosecution can be significantly reduced.
He encouraged anyone who's interested in but hesitant to join the business to take a closer look at a July 2015 raid in Modoc County involving a joint-growing scheme between the Alturas Indian Rancheria and Pit River tribes. That group's mistake, Quisquis said, was that they'd put together an unsophisticated operation, not that their operation was illegal in the first place.
A federal search warrant affidavit, written by a special agent with the Bureau of Indian Affairs, lays out some important dates and events. On March 20, 2015, two members of Alturas and their attorneys met with the Modoc County sheriff to inform him of their plans. In May, the Department of Justice issued the tribe a letter, warning of possible "enforcement" or "criminal prosecution."
The group carried on. Its attorneys presented a plan to the Modoc County Board of Supervisors for their facilities. By late June, authorities had determined that not all the Alturas members were happy about the cultivation business and that the operation was likely being financed by a Canadian cigarette-maker.
The U.S. Attorney's Office for the Eastern District of California never filed charges and declined to comment for this article, saying the investigation is ongoing.
Nevertheless, the July 8 raid sent shockwaves through Indian Country and might explain the silence of some leaders who were once willing to trumpet their marijuana plans.
Months before the Alturas raid, the Thermal-based Torres Martinez Desert Cahuilla Indians announced plans to partner with a Red Crow LLC, a Native American-owned marijuana-growing company, and sell to medical shops under the direction of the tribe's subsidiary, Sovereignty Medical Tribal Corp. The parties had been hoping to set up operations by the summer - expanding at a later date into Mecca - but there's no evidence that any of it ever got off the ground.
Chairwoman Mary Resvaloso deferred questions to Joseph Mirelez, another tribal council member, who confirmed that the cultivation plans never materialized, but declined to say why.
Only 15 days after the Alturas raid, Riverside County Sheriff's deputies shut down a marijuana-growing operation on the Cahuilla Indian Reservation - located between Temecula and Pinyon Pines - and confiscated a stolen assault rifle in the process. Thirteen people were arrested on suspicion of commercial marijuana cultivation.
"Private businesses approaching tribes and pitching marijuana cultivation as a business is nothing new," said chief deputy Lyndon Wood, who manages the sheriff's tribal liaison unit. "What I've seen is a lot of these businesses will come in and present facts that aren't quite true in an effort to entice some of the tribes into business...through promises of large dollar amounts."
Wood said he's had "consultations" with half a dozen tribes in Riverside County and would advise others to speak to their attorneys before rushing into any potential deals.
There's plenty of hope in Indian Country that Proposition 64 - by legalizing marijuana in the most populous state - will help soften attitudes, but also the awareness that tribes will remain caught between competing government interests. The upcoming Native American Marijuana Conference in Alpine is supposed to address some of these questions head on: Can casinos sell marijuana products? Can casinos establish marijuana lounges?
"Federal law," as Forman, Morongo's attorney, stressed, "is not changed by what state law does."
News Moderator: Katelyn Baker 420 MAGAZINE ®
Full Article: Tribes Advised To Tread Cautiously On Marijuana
Author: Jesse Marx
Contact: (760) 322-8889
Photo Credit: Omar Ornelas
Website: The Desert Sun
