Marijuana Product Reviews

Weed products and weed strains reviewed by Democracy in Crisis columnists and editors as well as sometimes weed critics, Brandon Soderberg and Baynard Woods.

A selection of weed reviews were featured in the Baltimore City Paper in 2016-2017.




"Medical marijuana refugee" Laurie Gaddis uses cannabis to treat her skin cancer

By Baynard Woods

This feature article first appeared in the Baltimore City Paper Weed Issue, April 21, 2017


llustration by Jordan Riggins

llustration by Jordan Riggins

"I’ve been preaching about cannabis cures cancer since 2008,” Laurie Gaddis says. And she’s been preaching it because it works.

Gaddis moved to Colorado from Arizona after she was diagnosed with a rare form of skin cancer she says comes from her father’s exposure to Agent Orange in the Vietnam War. She calls herself medical marijuana refugee for nearly a decade.

The patchwork of state laws under a federal ambiguity that has gotten worse with Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ anti-pot statements has created hundreds of medical marijuana refugees who have to move to a state where the kind of medicine either they or their doctor feel is necessary.

Gaddis has never had to undergo chemo or radiation therapy. She still has problems, but she is alive. And relatively well.

“I am in a blessed position,” she says of her life in Colorado. “I’m glad I am but I think everybody should have that opportunity. It upsets me that other people are suffering every day and don’t know what to do.”

She says she can remember what it felt like with the choice of being “illegally alive or legally dead.”

Gaddis treated her cancer with a homemade cannabis oil similar to that made famous by Rick Simpson.

Simpson was diagnosed with basal cell carcinoma in 2003. When no other treatments seemed to work, he applied a cannabis oil to his skin. Simpson says that within four days, his cancer was cured.

Simpson has written books and tells people how to make the oil—using a super high-potency THC indica—but does not sell it, though others do.

Gaddis, who has used oil topically and also ingested it, hasn’t had quite the success of a total cure in four days. She still struggles sometimes. But as she experiments with her own oils, and has discovered a lotion that she says seems to be working for arthritis. And, unlike oils or other topicals, it is not greasy. “I’m not bonding the cannabis to the fat so it’s not a greasy formula at all,” she says. “It absorbs beautifully and gets right into where it needs to go.”

This, she says, could be revolutionary for conditions like hers. Cannabis could be in sun screen lotion, potentially helping to keep people from developing skin cancer.

“We’re just now starting to realize how effective this medicine is and how many people’s lives it’s changing,” she said.

Dr. Stuart Titus, the CEO of the first publicly traded medical cannabis company, has been involved with various studies, overseas where it is legal to study the medical effects of cannabis, says that Gaddis is not alone.

“Currently there is a study underway in Australia, where the incidents of melanoma cancer is quite rampant,” he said. “They’re looking at a topical as well as ingestible application.”

His company, Medical Marijuana Inc, makes an oil similar to the Rick Simpson Oil, except it has a high concentration of CBD instead of THC and while they have not been able to study the results as thoroughly as they would like, he says he has anecdotal stories about its success for skin cancer.   But he says that the body has numerous cannabinoid receptors and large doses of CBD such as are legal in Florida, even without any intoxicating effect, can have tremendous benefit.

It was easy to hear stories of success at a recent medical marijuana conference in Washington D.C. Christine Stenquist, who came to the capital from Utah, was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 1996. “During surgery a blood vessel was hit, when I awoke I had left side paralysis, I had chronic pain and a litany of issues,” she said. “For 16 years I’ve been bedridden and housebound. Four years ago I discovered cannabis and it’s changed my life,” she said in front of a couple dozen people at a press conference in front of the U.S. capitol building.

Her state won’t take action on medical pot until the feds do.

Nicole Snow is from Massachusetts, which just legalized recreational marijuana, which is far better. But because there is no federal protection there are still issues, say, for children who need cannabis as medicine. Patients, Snow says,”have very different needs than adult users.”

“We need our home rights, residential protection, discrimination protection, protections from losing our jobs, protection from losing our kids, protection from losing our health care,” she says. “Which is absurd.”

Gaddis says such laws are “so disrespectful to the millions of lives” like hers that have been changed and perhaps saved by cannabis. “People are changing their lives,” she said. “They’re becoming free from prescription drugs, they’re able to interact with their families and it’s changing the quality of their life.”


Four places where marijuana partakers can find a more friendly climate 

Travel to toke

By Baynard Woods

This feature article appeared in the Orlando Weekly on April 19, 2017 and in excerpted form in the Baltimore City Paper's Weed Issue April 18, 2017

In 2011, the great writer John Jeremiah Sullivan wrote an essay for the New York Times Magazine about, among other things, sneaking away with an old buddy to smoke a joint while shepherding their families through Disney World. His friend had found a forum, he wrote, with a "fiend's guide to Disney World. It pinpointed the safest places for burning the proverbial rope, telling what in particular to watch for at each spot. Isolated footpaths that didn't see much traffic, conventional smoking areas with good hedge cover, places where you could hide under a bridge by a little artificial river – those were its points of interest."

The main rule of this guide was, however, "Be ready to book it." As in GTFO. And that's not a bad rule of thumb for the smoker in Orlando in general. Everybody else comes on vacation here. But as we still face a year in prison and a misdemeanor charge even for a small amount of weed, it might not be a bad idea for partakers to book a flight to a clime more friendly for their own head space.


With Trump in the White House and Jeff Sessions, a hard-line prohibitionist, as the nation's top cop, D.C. is not the most obvious place to go for your weed needs, though it's probably the closest American destination to Orlando where you can legally get your smoke on. But, like everything in that strange city, it is not easy to navigate.


The laws governing cannabis in the District are bizarre – and almost strangely utopian. A resident can grow six plants – 12 per household – and give away up to an ounce. But you can't buy or sell it or smoke it in public or in coffee shops or bars. The law cuts out all of the money. Or it tries to; as with everything in Washington, money will creep in.

But the skinny is, it's a terrible weed town for tourists and a great one for people who live there. Occasionally there will be a mass giveaway. As an act of civil disobedience, MJDC (the group that's primarily responsible for making it legal in the District) gave away thousands of jointson Inauguration Day, which people openly burnt around Dupont Circle. The lines, it seemed, were as long as, or longer than, those to get into the the inauguration.

If you really want to book it right now, jump in the car: The DC Edibles Fest is happening on Sunday, April 23. Dozens of vendors are signed up and, presumably (details are a little vague, surprise surprise) your $25 ticket gets you access to those edibles, since you can't legally purchase them from the vendors.

Incidentally, this is the way capitalism seems intent on entering the marijuana market. There are a number of services that allow you to make a donation for a delivery or buy something else – a popsicle or whatever – and the service or item comes with "free" weed.

But be careful. Weed is kosher in the District, but not on federal property. And especially when you're hanging around the tourist areas, it's really hard to know whether you are on federal land or not, so it's best to assume you are. You probably won't get searched, but you still don't want to fire up with Lincoln at his memorial.


People are calling Barcelona the "new Amsterdam," which is in some ways true, but in many others misleading. It has become the capital of European cannabis cultivation and it's where all of the bomb seeds and interesting genetic breeding work is going on. So from the cultivator's perspective, it is the new Amsterdam. From the consumer's perspective, considerably less so.

That's because all of the great cannabis clubs are private and work like collectives. Members started pooling their money together to get someone to grow for them so that they could escape the black market. They argued that they were free to do what they wanted with their own bodies and, since Franco died and the country emerged from fascism, they were free to associate however they wished. "They also say it is a sickness," says Anna Obredors, a cannabis consultant, "and they can't outlaw sickness."


Obredors took me to one of these truly private clubs that I would not have been able to go to by myself. It was beautiful and you wouldn't have noticed it from the street at all. You put money on an account and then when you order something, no money changes hands. It was like the nicest coffeeshop you could think of, a great place to sit and read and do some work – but it had dozens of varieties of hash and beautiful, often organically grown, buds of every sort.

But even if you don't know anyone to take you to a private club, you'll be fine. The first time we walked through the Gothic Quarter, someone approached us and asked us if we smoked weed. We followed him around the corner to a small little place behind a big cathedral. We had to pay a 20-euro membership fee and show our passports. Then a second door opened and we entered a small dark bar with some stools, couches and a pool table.

The weed wasn't nearly as good as at the private place and the selection wasn't stunning, but there were three or four sativas and a few indicas. They provide papers and bongs and whatever you need, and you can just order a beer or a soda and sit and chill.

Evidently, these places get shut down pretty regularly for catering to tourists. The address on our membership card was actually for the former incarnation of our club and so when we looked for it again, we couldn't find it ­– so we had to go to the church again to find our spot.

Even after getting much better weed, we still frequented this club, because you didn't have to buy something new every time. And it was in the Gothic Quarter, so if we were on our way to the Picasso Museum or Gaudi's Casa Batlló we could stop in, have a toke, and then go enjoy ourselves.

Barcelona is a spectacular city even without weed, but if you're a head, the beautiful architecture and ancient streets, the sea and sky, the voluble and outgoing people, and the exceptional tapas and drinks are all enhanced by the weed – it's a stoner's dream.



We ate the giant, green-chile-soaked burritos at Sam's No. 3 Diner in downtown Denver right after we got to town. It was near all the fancy convention hotels and stuff, but it was not a fancy place. Cheap burritos. Cheap beer. Open early, closing late, Sam's stretches nearly an entire block. We loved it from the moment we walked in.

But not nearly as much as we did the next day, after we'd found Native Roots around the corner. Then it was out-of-this-world good – from the sizzle of the chile to the fizz of the beer, it felt ecstatic.

That's because I'd eaten a couple of edibles and had a couple hits from a vape pen first.

In Denver, the weed stores are really beautiful. At Native Roots, you go in and they check your ID before letting you into the shopping area, where you wait in line and then point out what you want from behind the counter. Bring cash – because of the federal law against marijuana sales, they won't take credit or debit cards. You also aren't allowed to consume on premises, so if you're staying at a regular hotel, get something discreet like a vape pen – or look for a hostel, hotel or Airbnb that is 420-friendly (they're out there).

Another place – I can't remember the name because I was so high – was set up more like an Apple store, with wooden floors and tables with big buds in jars with nets over the mouths, so you couldn't touch the buds but could still smell them; iPads beside the jars scrolled all the relevant information.

But people aren't just visiting Colorado for cannabis – they're moving there. After recreational pot was legalized in 2012, the population grew by over 100,000. Even if you don't smoke, the call of the weed is strong. The legal weed industry provided 18,000 jobs and generated nearly $2.5 billion dollars in 2015. Last year, in Denver, sales reached $1 billion.

But don't pack up your house yet. According to some sources, this influx of people and money has also led to gentrification and a housing crisis. And there are so many people coming for the business, some growers say it's like farming anywhere else in America now – nearly impossible to make a fair living.

Still, it is a beautiful city up in the mountains – mile-high in every sense – and they won't throw you in jail for something you decide to do with your own body. A nearly perfect vacation spot.


The dream of the '90s may still be alive in Portland – a city home to so many Orlando ex-pats that its' sometimes called Portlando, Floregon – but the dream of the 21st century is also shaping up there: a dream of being able to do what you like to your own body. Although the state as a whole is fairly conservative, Portland is extremely progressive (Portland : Oregon :: Austin : Texas), and even statewide, there's a general ethos of keep-your-government-off-my-body. For instance, for many years Oregon was the only American state to have a "death with dignity" law.


Alongside this progressive bent, add a city full of reponsible hedonists. Everyone is so goddamn healthy, from all the biking and hiking and so on, but they do like to celebrate anything that makes you feel good, with a strong emphasis on food, wine, coffee ... and weed.

"Portland is a great place to experience the emerging cannabis scene," says Chad Dean, a writer who co-founded Splimm, a pot and parenting website, with his wife. "Anyone 21 or older with a valid government ID can purchase up to 1 ounce of flower, five grams of concentrate [hash oil], 16 ounces in solid form [like a candy bar], and 72 ounces in liquid form."

Dean says it's best to start by heading down Sandy Boulevard on the east side of the Willamette River, which takes you through the "green mile," which he describes as "a stretch of road adorned with a variety of recreational cannabis shops." Dean also recommends the dispensary Farma to his friends because of the how knowledgeable the budtenders are.

Another popular spot – perfect for tourists, as it's located downtown, where there's a concentration of hotels – is Serra Modern Druggist, which carries flowers, concentrates, edibles, body products and accessories, in a space so tasteful it's often mistaken for a high-end design store. There's also a preponderance of food cart lots downtown, including the Alder Street pod, home of the legendary Nong's Khao Man Gai. We can think of few things nicer on a high than a plate of that amazing Thai chicken and rice followed by a wander through Powell's City of Books, which covers an entire city block downtown.

Keep in mind, though: It's not legal to consume in public at all, so Dean says the best bet is to find an Airbnb, since hotels also will not allow you to smoke on-site.

"Tourists can try the Northwest Cannabis Club, which has an entry fee of $20 for the first visit and $5 for every additional trip. Smoking is permitted outside on the patio and they have some equipment for vaporizing inside. It's BYOEverything Else, though."





RE$I$T:  Donald Trump has increased interest in the lives and tactics of long-time tax resisters

By Mary Finn, Additional reporting by Brandon Soderberg

Rod Nippert grew up on a farm with 40,000 turkeys in the Appalachian Mountains in Southeastern Ohio. He wanted to escape the life of a farm boy as quickly as he could. Nippert had big plans– become an engineer, move to the city, and buy a red Corvette. That was 1967. Forty years later, he and his wife, Linda, live and work on a 100 acre, community-owned raspberry farm in Appalachia. He spends his days puttering around in a stained glass shop that he runs with his neighbor. There’s no Corvette in his garage. Nippert’s life was fundamentally altered by his decision to break the law. He hasn’t paid his federal income tax, in full, since 1973.

Nippert is one of approximately 8,000 Americans who openly choose to contest paying their full federal income tax owed to the government. They don’t consider themselves to be criminal tax evaders; they prefer to be called war tax resisters.

President Trump’s refusal to release his income taxes has fueled interest in tax resistance for some anti-Trumpers. “Take a look at Trump. Did he reveal his taxes? No,” Jay Sordean, a war tax resistance counselor in Berkeley, CA, says. “I am sure he is hiding lots of crap. He is in this for himself and I am sure his taxes reflect his beliefs,”

But, for long-time resisters like Nippert, the decision not to pay taxes doesn’t depend on who is in the White House. It is a matter of personal conscience.

As a child, Nippert had attended services at the Church of the Brethren. “When I was a kid, I knew my religion and stuff and I was involved in a youth group but I didn’t think too heavily about what was going on in the world or what that had to do with my religious beliefs. I knew things were going on in the world but they didn't seem personally relevant,” Nippert says.

But then, as for so many, the Vietnam War created a crisis of conscience for Nippert. He was lucky to get a draft deferment from the war by enrolling as a student at Ohio University and then transferring to Ohio State. The war plodded along and Nippert lived a parallel life as a Buckeye. He pledged a frat, but the brothers decided he wasn’t Beta Theta Pi material.

“Looking back on it, I think they made the right decision,” he says. “That was a time when everything was changing. I was letting my hair grow a little longer but the frats were still pretty conservative. There were weird things they didn’t like about me. I didn’t hold my cigarette the right way. And you know, really, I was just a farm boy.”

Around the same time, someone gave him a copy Joan Baez’s memoir, “Daybreak.”

“Her book affected me a lot in terms of thinking about issues of pacifism and made me think about what I learned about non-violence from Church of the Brethren,” he says.

In 1968, Nippert started hanging out at political meetings at Ohio State where he learned more about draft resistance and non-violent protest. “I grew up being taught to think for myself and once I started going to meetings and hearing people talking and hold strong opinions passionately, it kind of opened me up,” he says. “It caused me to ask, ‘What do I really believe in passionately? How am I supposed to live my beliefs?’”

Initially, he got involved with a campus group that was doing draft counseling for people who wanted to escape to Canada and helped them fill out forms so that they could register as conscientious objectors. But Nippert’s own conscience continued to gnaw at him.

One night in 1969, Nippert broke into “the Shoe,” Ohio State’s 66,000 seat football stadium. It was midnight. He climbed all the way to the top bleacher and sat there, alone, for a few hours. Enveloped by the all-American scene, Nippert thought about his relationship to his country.

"I wanted to make the right decisions. I am not, and never have been anti my country. Not at all,” he says. “I love my country. I thought that if I am not truly a pacifist, I should go register for the draft and serve. I am not going to walk around saying I am a pacifist, if I’m not willing to make a personal sacrifice. I am not a chicken. I can’t be just trying to get out of going to war. I have to really be for something. Sitting up there in the stadium alone, I came to my decision. I decided that I couldn’t kill anybody.”

But there was more.

“If I can’t kill someone, can I pay someone else to kill for me?” he asked himself.

“I decided that I couldn’t do either and I really needed to live as a pacifist.”

Two months later, Nippert dropped out of Ohio State and was called up for the draft. The draft board required documentation to validate his conscientious objector status. Nippert’s dad wrote him a letter of support. He had been a fighter pilot in World War II, captured and starved by the Nazi’s as a POW. In the letter, his father wrote, “As a farmer, we learn that each of us needs to plow our own furrow.”

Nippert’s petition was approved and soon after he stopped paying his taxes.


War tax resisters believe that we should be able to decide for ourselves when, if, and how much we pay in federal tax based on our beliefs. They think we should able to decide how much we pay, or if we pay at all, when we don’t think the government is going to use our money to our liking.

The IRS clearly does not agree. The IRS did not respond to our questions about tax resistance. IRS Code 6702 requires the agency to maintain a list of “frivolous filings,”which, according to the agency, “describes and responds to some of the common frivolous tax arguments made by those who oppose compliance with federal tax laws.” The IRS can fine a filer up to $5,000 for attaching a letter of protest or writing directly on a tax form about any of the frivolous filing issues. War tax resistance is on the list.

"One doesn’t like to hear the word frivolous about an action we take so seriously, but I know it isn’t intended as a diss to us in particular,”  says Ruth Benn the National Coordinator of the National War Tax Resistance Coordinating Committee (NWTRCC, pronounced “New Trick”), a group founded in 1982 in response nuclear proliferation. “Since they started the frivolous filing penalties as a result of war tax resistance, a lot of us did an action we called ‘cabbage patch filing.’ People filed dozens of 1040’s instead of filing just one. The goal was to slow down the system.”

One person’s frivolity is another’s necessity. Kesh (who asked to be identified by her first name) a 38-year old Baltimore service industry worker didn’t pay taxes last year because she couldn’t afford it.

“Because I couldn't afford to pay for my insurance last year, they charged me a penalty for that—a penalty for being poor," she said of the fine she would have to pay for not having health care under the Affordable Care Act.

Then she started to wonder where the money went.

"I know that my tax money is going to to the police and I can walk down the street and get shot,” she says. Though local police forces are primarily funded through local and state governments, police departments do receive federal funding. And as an African-American woman in Baltimore, where Freddie Gray’s death in police custody in 2015 led to a police curfew that was enforced by the National Guard, Kesh was more concerned about the militarization of the police in her neighborhood than a far-away war.

Trump made all of this worse. "I'm all the groups that are hated. I've decided to come to earth in this body and be black, be a woman, gay, so you know, I get hit on every side of it. I was a teenaged mother, I'm a single mom—I'm all the things [Trump and Republicans] hate."

Unlike the other resisters, Kesh is new to this. She doesn’t know where it will lead her yet—hence her decision not to use her name. She has not taken workshops or been formally advised and she is at risk of being targeted by the IRS.

So it is difficult to think of anyone’s decision to defy one of our fundamental civic duties as frivolous. But even some tax resisters think this way.

“Some people who don’t pay taxes are just fruitcakes in terms of the reasons they are using to avoid paying taxes,” says Peter Smith, war tax resister from Indiana. “You know, like things that are never going to work.”

For instance, there are some people in the states’ rights crowd who believe the 9th amendment protects them from the overreach of the federal government’s ability to collect income tax. For some odd reason, some filers claim that if they write the phrase “nunc pro tunc” on their 1040 form, they won’t have to pay income tax.

“But the people who are out there who are honestly conscientious objectors and have legitimate reasons, we respect them and we say go for it,” Smith says.  

Some people, for instance, refuse to pay their first $5,000 in federal tax because of what they refer to as a “Black Tax,” a version of self-imposed reparations taking the place of the 40 acres and mule promised by General Sherman at the end of the Civil War.

Still, military spending is the most common issue. NWTRCC publishes an annual analysis of the federal budget in which they determine that about 50% of the federal budget goes toward current military spending, debt on past wars, upkeep of the nuclear arsenal, and funding for homeland security. War tax resisters, like Nippert, use this figure as a guidepost when paying (or not paying) their federal income tax. But under Trump, military spending is poised to spike.

“Interest in tax resistance has been unusually active because of Trump’s election,” says Benn. “We saw a huge jump in our web stats since the inauguration. It is tax time and we have a president we don’t like. I mean, we aren’t like the Women’s March with 100,000’s of people coming out. But, around the country, we are finding more interest in our workshops where there will be 20 people attending instead of the usual two. Local networks that don’t usually contact us have been unusually active. Some of the groups out there who are anti-Trump have come to us for ideas.”

While the current political climate may have created a spike in interest in war tax resistance, many war tax resisters interviewed for this story made it clear that their opposition isn’t grounded in partisanship but is based on a life of pacifism inspired by flashpoints like Vietnam War, the 1980’s nuclear arms race, American military involvement in Central America, and the more recent wars in Iraq.

Like Nippert, resisters tend to start out as activists and protesters in anti war movements and then, ultimately, they ask themselves, “If I am so against war, then why am I paying for it?”  “These are all conscious people who have chosen to stay out of the system,” Benn says.

Smith, the tax resister from Indiana, served in the military for four years in the early 1960’s. “During the Vietnam War I knew that what the government needed to fight the war was money and people. I knew that I could resist with my money and so I did,” he says.

For others, the catalyst was even more personal. Peace activist, Cindy Sheehan, best known for her month long 2005 tent encampment protest outside President Bush’s Crawford, Texas ranch, lost her son Casey to the Iraq war in April 2014 and stopped paying federal income tax.

“After Casey was killed in the Iraq War, I looked at my then husband and said that is the last time I am paying taxes. I am not filing or paying taxes to this government because they took something from us that they can never repay,” she says. “For years, I had funded the murder of so many people, including my own son.”

She has ongoing federal liens against her for any future assets she may acquire but the magistrate in her IRS hearing took a sympathetic stance. “The judge looked up at me at the end of the hearing and said, ‘What you’ve done sounds like a real reasonable response to something that happened to you that was so unreasonable,’” she recalls.

Many tax resisters view what they do as a reasonable response to an unreasonable situation. But the 8,000 war tax resisters don’t necessarily believe that they will stop all war. Not any more, at least. Most of the people I spoke to for this article are now in their late 60’s; they started their resistance wide-eyed and bell bottomed, intending to starve the “war machine.” Now, most admit that’s not going to happen. “I don’t want to totally give up on change but I don’t expect it in my lifetime. What we do is going to someday turn things around. Like any conscientious objector, I think I have a role in showing another way. Through my tax resistance I am trying to show what is important,” Benn said.

War tax resistance is idiosyncratic; there isn’t a prescribed way to do it. Resisters do all they can to make it difficult for the IRS to collect what is owed. But for most, being a war tax resister translates to creating a simple, asset-free life.

Nationwide, NWTRCC affiliate groups offer counseling to those interested in committing war tax resistance. Participants are guided to reflect on what they believe and to articulate what they are looking for from their resistance. Then, they commit to the course of action that is the best for their life situation and their tolerance for risk.

Jay Sordean, the volunteer war tax resistance counselor in Berkeley, CA is self-employed and doesn’t have withholdings taken directly from his paycheck. He also lives below the taxable income limit. Sordean files his 1040 tax form every year but he doesn’t include a check. He sends a letter of resistance with his form.

In the 1990’s, he got creative and sent palm sized helium canisters that “looked like little cruise missiles” attached to his 1040, along with a letter of protest to the IRS, his senators, and the Clinton White House (warning: don’t try this in the post 9/11 era).

War tax resisters who do receive a paycheck often hike up their withholding exemptions and end up having little or no money taken from their pay. Some people file and withhold $10.40 and they attach letters demanding a decrease in military spending, in an act of what is referred to as “symbolic resistance.”

Like many resisters, Nippert put all of his assets in his wife's name so that the house can’t be seized by the IRS. He doesn’t make enough money on the raspberry farm or in the stained glass shop to pay personal income tax.

Every war tax resister I talked to donates the money that should have been paid in taxes either to charities or one of the 50 funds, such as the People’s Life Fund, that redistribute the money for “life affirming purposes.” Ann Barron, a resister since 2014 from San Diego, said, “I love paying taxes, but not for war. I pay my taxes but not to the U.S. government.”

The war tax resisters view what they do as patriotic. The openly commit civil disobedience, spawned by a love of country.


Tax resistance isn’t easy. Most resisters live in fear and experience financial uncertainty. The IRS wants the money it is owed and agents will do everything they can to get it, including placing liens on assets, seizing bank and retirement accounts, and garnishing wages. For many resisters, the hassle and risk is worth the sacrifice.

“It’s been worth it for me. One of the things about war tax resistance is that you have control over yourself. You can say no to the government and that's not something many people can do because they feel kind of forced into paying. It is empowering for me,” Smith said.

Nippert doesn’t worry so much about the IRS coming after him. “If you can be sympathetic to the IRS, it is getting much, much harder for them to collect taxes even for big amounts of money because the federal government is giving them less and less to work with,” he says. “I know that I am low priority when they can’t even collect from people who owe a lot.”

Still, the collection letters from the IRS can be relentless and filled with intimidating legalese. “I get the collection letters and they are a little scary,” Barron says. “One of the hardest things about tax resistance is that it is difficult to get the right legal information. My anxiety about the IRS was the first hurdle for me to get over in deciding to be a war resister. But now, I don’t feel fear. I made a decision to be public about what I’m doing. I feel a deep connection between what I believe and what I am doing.”

What about jail? In 1846, in the most famous case of war tax resistance, the author Henry David Thoreau was jailed for refusing to pay six years worth of back taxes because of his opposition to slavery and the Mexican-American War. Since then, only a few dozen Americans have been jailed for war tax resistance. “Jail for war tax resistance is a myth,” NWTRCC’s Benn says. “The IRS doesn’t come and take you away, they just want their money. They don’t want people in jail.”

Tell that to Dr. Joseph Olejak, a chiropractor and natural healer from Chatham, NY. Joseph started withholding his taxes from the government in 1992. “At first the letters came more frequently from the IRS and the threats became more regular until eventually someone from the IRS showed up and said, ‘this is a civil matter now, but it will become a criminal matter if you don’t pay,’” Olejak recalls.

Armed agents ended up storming Olejak’s office and seized his computers and records. In 2013, Olejak was sentenced to serve weekends in county jail because he owed $242,000 to the federal government. The charges against Olejak resulted in a felony conviction that caused him to lose his chiropractor's license.

For 26 weeks, Olejak worked as a bookkeeper and advised clients on weight loss during the weekdays. On Friday night at 6 PM, he checked into the county jail, changed into his jumpsuit and was fed “food that was so disgusting you couldn’t even call it food. It was a concoction of soy and meat-like substance over noodles. It was so disgusting, sometimes I just fasted.” He checked out of jail each Sunday night and returned to diet coaching. Any regrets about his choices? None.

“Somewhere, somebody is not going to have a smart bomb dropped on their head because I withdrew some money from the system,” Olejak says. As part of his plea deal, Olejak agreed to pay taxes in $100 monthly installments when he has the income to pay and he was put on five years probation.

Aside from his highly aberrational jail sentence, Olejak suffered financial ruin. He can no longer practice as a chiropractor in NY because of his criminal felony. Still, he sees himself as successful. “There are all kinds of success,” he says. “There is ethical success and financial success and the two are not necessarily the same thing. This is not something that happened to me out of the blue, I made the choice. I made a conscious choice not to participate in war. I accepted the consequences and hoped that they would not be awful.”

For Nippert, it’s turned out a lot better than “not awful.”

“I don’t have any doubts about what I've done,” he says. “I think probably my overwhelming feeling is that this isn't a direction I would have gone on my own, but it's really turned out to be great for me.”

Every morning, he walks the ¾ miles to his glass shop with his dog Candy next to him. He spends his days in the shop listening to Emmylou Harris, the X Ambassadors, and Van Morrison. He and his wife, a recently retired elementary special education teacher, usually have an unfinished puzzle on the coffee table that they work on together in the evenings after dinner. They are grandparents to twin 4 year-old boys.

He’s got a birthday coming up.

“People ask me what I want for my birthday? I don't know. I mean it is not like I wish I had more money to buy more and more things,” he says. “When I was younger, I wasn't concerned with money so much, I was just in love with a 'Vette, you know? But now, I'm just pretty happy. I am happy with the woods and my grandkids. I think the land is awfully healing.”

But his son married a woman whose family owns a local car dealership. They usually have a few Corvettes in the garage. Maybe he’ll take one on a drive for his birthday.