Many working mothers had high hopes that the cannabis business would offer job flexibility and promises of equity. But that has proven to be a pipe dream.
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When California became the first state to legalize medical cannabis in 1996, it sparked the beginning of a change in conventional wisdom about marijuana. It slowly started to lose its stigma, gain acceptance for both medical and recreational usage, and spark a conversation about decriminalization. Today, 41 U.S. states have enacted some form of legalization, and a 2023 Gallup poll showed 70 percent of voters nationwide are in favor of federal legalization.
And the cannabis industry has created a lot of jobs: ancillary (non-plant touching), cultivation (growing and processing), and retail (dispensaries and consumption lounges). In fact, the early days of the cannabis industry looked promising for working mothers. Many women business owners around the country have said working in the cannabis industry—in the realms of online retail, packaging, medical certification, e.g.—was giving them the kind of flexibility they couldn’t find elsewhere. But most women owners were small operators, and without the resources of the largest corporations, ever-changing legislation and exorbitant costs undermined their businesses.
Now, despite the momentum, the industry is in crisis: Fewer than 25 percent of cannabis businesses are profitable, and systemic inequities continue to shape who succeeds and who gets left behind.
Amanda, whose real name has been withheld by request, is a former district leader in cannabis. She had taken a job in the industry in part because she believed it would give her the kind of flexibility she’d need as a working mother. So she was disappointed when she discovered how inhospitable it was to people like her—Amanda didn’t want to believe such blatant discrimination against mothers existed. She had no choice but to leave the industry.
“After I took a step back … (I realized) that was absolutely happening to me—not just a gender bias, but a mom bias, like I was rejected or not even considered for roles because they knew I was a mom,” she said.
Amanda explained that the big corporations she worked for were moving too fast. The cannabis industry, she said, is like building an airplane while flying—though she feels like executives in ivory towers use their newness and fast expansion as an excuse not to do better.
In fact, cannabis has begun to mirror the very corporate structures and exclusionary practices it once claimed to disrupt. Only 15 states have implemented a Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) component in their cannabis programs—most of which have been poorly executed or underfunded.
Even before the current political backlash against DEI, well-funded operators were quietly undermining efforts to correct the harm of the War on Drugs, like the rollout of seed-to-sale tracking—a pay-to-play scenario where companies must afford a license to grow and sell cannabis on the wholesale market—and the high cost associated with gaining the license to be able to participate. The seed-to-sale system shuts out independent growers who were previously able to participate before the database was introduced.
As the report “Ensuring the High Road in Cannabis” argues, the industry must set itself apart from other profit-focused industries who employ “low-road” practices like union-busting.
In almost every state that has either a medical or adult-use program , there are accounts of corporate retaliation for collective bargaining, even in areas with a National Labor Agreement in place. And as the bigger companies move toward retail models akin to giants like Target, more employees are being fired when they attempt to unionize. In Arizona, a woman who’d been outspoken about a new union drive and disparaged the dispensary’s poor wages and other policies was fired on Labor Day, allegedly for “violating company policy.” Her supervisor claimed she and other budtenders who were organizing, were “under the influence at work.” The workers who took part in the drive felt the firing and the allegations were retaliatory. In Colorado, a growhouse fired workers who were calling out unsafe ventilation and low wages, and demanded unionization (though they’ve recently gotten their jobs back after the union and the growhouse reached an agreement).
Industry leaders like Whitney Beatty, CEO of Josephine & Billies, believe a different path is possible—one rooted in community care and sustainable business models. Beatty works hard with buyers and her team to make sure that plant medicine is affordable to the local community.
“It’s going to be critical that we have a clear understanding of the things that need to be put in place in an equity program to ensure survival,” Beatty says. “And the No. 1 thing in that is going to be money.”
She points to the systemic funding gap equity faced by applicants: “We still are in an industry that is federally illegal. We can’t go to the bank and get a bank loan. These equity businesses start out with a deficit of funding and don’t have access to the grants or loans that are incredibly necessary to put these people on equal footing.”
Technical assistance, mentorship, and business infrastructure are also essential. Without them, Beatty argues, even the best-designed equity program will fall short. Her company was the first recipient of the Parent Company’s social equity fund, and can attest to the fact that DEI efforts can work.
“Has social equity failed or has the cannabis industry failed?” asked Beatty. “Because you can’t have the expectation that these social equity businesses are going to do well in an industry that is failing across the board.”
Beatty says that the only way actual change will happen in the industry is not just with equity-based businesses, because equity in cannabis is a very narrow window any municipality can design however they like. For example, in Maryland, one requirement for social equity applicants is they must have a record of living in a Disproportionately Impacted Area (DIA) for five out of the last ten years.
And it’s not just pay equity: Stephanie Kerns has worked in cannabis for over a decade. Despite never being late or missing a shift, developing training manuals and acting as a spokesperson for several companies, she has been passed over multiple times for promotions.
Like so many working mothers I’ve interviewed, she made herself as flexible as possible, but one company stipulated that to get a promotion, she’d have to work 30 days straight, which she couldn’t do with children.
“I was told directly that they needed my whole soul, not someone who is committed to children,” Kerns said.
Every nascent industry has challenges, but if accessibility isn’t built into the framework, there is little chance for a course-correct. Because cannabis comes with so much extra baggage, both legally and financially, benefits like childcare subsidies or reimbursement are a pipe dream.
In some cases, larger corporations are exploiting individuals with convictions or those who qualify for social equity, using them as fronts for their operations. Additionally, the broad criteria of these initiatives allow multiple applications from well-resourced individuals and businesses. Even when social equity requirements are more narrowly defined, licensees often lack the necessary tools to succeed.
Accessibility to capital, technical and legal assistance, mentorship, and other resources are crucial in a fast-paced, unstable, and uncertain industry. In some states, applicants must secure property before becoming a licensee. According to the report titled “Marijuana’s Social Equity Misfire”, social equity provisions in places like New York are only beneficial to those who’ve already achieved financial success.
Amanda said her peers had a passion for being a part of something bigger, and that inspired her to stay in the industry as long as she did.
But passion can be a double-edged sword. While it fuels innovation and motivation, it also masks instability. “With rapid M&A (mergers and acquisitions) activity, employees lose their identity within new companies. MSOs grow so quickly that some staff end up ‘stuck’—the only ones who understand certain systems or processes.”
Even legalizing cannabis on a federal level won’t make the industry instantly more equitable. Beatty says that the only way that will happen is if the people, particularly the white women who vote with their pocketbooks and are positioned securely in the boardroom, speak Black women’s names and effectively support groups like Supernova Women.
Since 2016, Supernova Women—a nonprofit where Beatty is vice president—has worked to ensure that women of color can become stakeholders in cannabis through education, advocacy, and organizing. The group has consistently pressured policymakers to fix regressive tax policies and reinvest in affected communities.
Despite the setbacks, the fight is far from over. If cannabis is to live up to its original promise, federal legislation must be grounded in sustainable, community-first frameworks. The future of the industry depends not just on profitability—but on how deeply it listens to those it has historically left behind.