If anyone asked me to roll a spliff or to differentiate between the varying qualities of cannabis, I would fail miserably. I have never smoked marijuana in my life. The deliberate attempts to stay far from it had hardly anything to do with the plant itself, but rather the ignorant stereotypes that came with it that don’t ever seem to apply to alcohol and cigarettes, both of which contribute to severe health problems.
Growing up, all I ever heard was that marijuana was for people with too much time on their hands, the ones without much ambition. As a practice, we were led to believe it was only for those deeply connected to Black consciousness through the Rastafari movement.
Going through the motions of Dougla identity, I would be lying if I didn’t admit how hypersensitive I was when it came to carefully constructing my image. Avoiding adding layered stereotypes was made to seem very important, either for the sake of remaining accepted or ensuring the Good Black ideology never slipped.