Not metaphorically. Not as a team-building exercise at some corporate retreat. I mean I stood at the open door of a Cessna at eighteen thousand feet, looked down at the green patchwork of earth below, felt the wind trying to pull the breath out of my chest — and I jumped anyway. Out of the airplane of a company that would soon claim 11 lives in a horrifying aviation accident.

People ask me what that feels like. The honest answer is that the scariest part isn't the jump. It's the moment before. It's standing at the threshold with every rational instinct screaming at you to step back, sit down, go home. The jump itself is almost a relief. Once you commit, the decision is made. All that's left is to fall well.

I think about that a lot these days.

What Risk Actually Looks Like

Real risk tolerance isn't about being reckless. It's about making a clear-eyed calculation that the cost of standing still is higher than the cost of moving forward — and then moving forward anyway, even when you can't see the landing. It requires you to look directly at the thing that could hurt you, understand it fully, and choose forward anyway. That's not bravado. That's a discipline.

When the Supply Chain Burned

Last year, a supplier we trusted betrayed that trust in the most consequential way possible — selling us products that weren't what they claimed to be, with forged documentation to cover their tracks. A customer was harmed. We ended up in federal court.

Every voice around me had the same advice: go quiet, pull back, wait for the smoke to clear. And I understood that instinct. But I kept asking the same question I always ask at the threshold — what does standing still actually cost? Folding inward wasn't protection. It was abandonment dressed up as caution.

So instead of going quiet, we sued. We fought back publicly, on the record, in federal court. We rebuilt our verification protocols from scratch and kept our doors open. The crisis didn't break us. It sharpened us.

The Threshold

We are, at our core, creatures of forward motion. Stillness is not our natural state — action is, even when action is frightening, even when the available actions are all bad ones. I don't think it's an accident that the image most seared into the collective memory of September 11th isn't the impact or the collapse — it's the jumpers. Because those people, in the most impossible moment imaginable, were still choosing. Still asserting that they would not simply be acted upon by the world. That instinct — raw, ancient, almost involuntary — is the deepest thing in us. It is what we are made of. And when everything else is stripped away, it is what remains.

The threshold is the hardest part. Not the fall. Not the landing. The moment of decision — when you can still turn back, when turning back would be completely understandable — that's where character is actually formed. Every time you turn back, the hesitation becomes a habit. The habit becomes an identity.

I decided a long time ago — standing at a literal open door at eighteen thousand feet — that wasn't going to be my identity.

That same decision is why we now have an active federal lawsuit against the State of Hawaii. The state has moved to regulate our business out of existence — not because we have harmed anyone, but because we have succeeded where their system has failed. We could have accepted that quietly. We could have thrown in the towel like so many others, decided to take the safe route and forget our our kiosks, and otherwise roll over and let the machinery of government trample over us unopposed. That was the cautious choice. That was the reasonable choice. But it was never going to be our choice.

The question is never whether the risk is real. It always is. The question is whether the cost of not jumping is higher than the cost of jumping. In my experience — from that Cessna door to a federal courtroom — the answer has almost always been yes.

So I jump.

Lance Alyas,

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

A man had walked up to one of our kiosks visibly intoxicated—slurring his words, unsteady on his feet. My employee, who had been with us for maybe two months at that point, looked at him, said we couldn’t serve him, and suggested he come back another time. He left without incident.

When I heard the story later that afternoon, I had one question: did my employee feel supported in making that call?

The answer was yes. That’s when I knew my training methodologies were working.

Most retail operations centralize decision-making authority because managers don’t trust employees to exercise good judgment. The result is an environment where every edge case requires managerial approval, which quietly trains employees to avoid responsibility and gradually erodes their ability to read situations independently. I took the opposite approach. From day one, every person working one of our kiosks has unconditional authority to refuse service to anyone, for any reason, without explanation or approval. We never refuse service unless the customer is trying to cause some sort of problem or is too intoxicated.

The logic is simple. The person standing at the kiosk is the one interacting directly with the customer. They see body language, tone, timing, and context—all the micro-signals that determine whether a transaction should happen. I’m not always there to read the situation. Requiring employees to ask permission doesn’t add oversight or improve outcomes; it adds delay, creates inefficiency, undermines their authority, and—perhaps worst of all—teaches them that their judgment doesn’t matter.

This approach requires hiring differently. I don’t only hire for product knowledge or retail experience. I hire for judgment. During interviews, I ask how candidates have handled conflict, how they read people, and what they do when they feel uncomfortable. You can teach someone most of what they need to know about products and industry rules in a week or two. But attitudes, instincts, and situational awareness are shaped over an entire lifetime. You can’t reliably teach the willingness to say no under pressure.

In another case, an employee refused service to someone who became verbally aggressive after being told no. The situation escalated briefly. Threats were made. A small crowd formed. My employee stayed calm, didn’t engage, and didn’t back down. Her clear authority to make that decision unilaterally is what allowed the situation to de-escalate.

The common argument against this kind of policy is that it leaves money on the table. In the narrowest sense, that’s true. But strategically—and ethically—it’s wrong. The cost of serving the wrong person once, whether through liability, reputational damage, or harm to people involved, far exceeds the cumulative revenue from dozens of refused transactions. More importantly, employees who feel trusted perform better and stay longer. Turnover in this industry is brutal. Anything that improves retention pays for itself many times over.

What I’ve learned is that distributed authority produces better outcomes than centralized control—but only if the authority is real. You can’t give people nominal power while quietly signaling that you’ll question their decisions later. Autonomy has to be unconditional, or it doesn’t work.

My team doesn’t need my permission to refuse service because they aren’t extensions of my judgment. They’re independent operators with authority that is genuinely theirs, not borrowed.

And that makes us better at what we do.

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

As I navigated the complex and ever-evolving world of hemp retail, I realized that success isn’t about square footage; it’s about strategy, efficiency, and building meaningful relationships with customers. Our “Little Green Kiosk” model was born out of necessity and curiosity. What if we could create a retail experience that was both intimate and engaging, one that would allow us to connect with customers on a deeper level?

The Birth of a New Retail Paradigm

Our kiosks are designed to be efficient and streamlined, with a focus on showcasing our products in a unique and compelling way. We’re not just selling hemp; we’re curating an experience. Every detail, from the layout of our displays to the scent of our products, is carefully considered to create an immersive experience that draws customers in and keeps them coming back.

One of the biggest advantages of our kiosk model is the lower overhead costs. With a smaller footprint, we save on rent, utilities, and staffing costs. This allows us to invest in high-quality products, employee training, and customer experience. In an industry where profit margins can be thin, every dollar counts. By keeping our costs low, we can maintain healthy profit margins and invest in the business.

The Power of High Foot Traffic

Our kiosks are strategically located in high-traffic areas of Waikiki, ensuring that we get maximum visibility and foot traffic. This is especially important in the hemp industry, where word-of-mouth and in-person experiences are crucial. By being in the right location, we can reach a large and diverse customer base, from tourists to locals.

I’ve seen firsthand how our kiosks can stop people in their tracks. A customer will be walking down the street, and they’ll catch a glimpse of our bright green branding or the enticing aroma of our products. Suddenly, they’re curious, and they’re drawn in. It’s like a mini-experience, right on the street.

Agility in Action

Small kiosks are inherently more agile than large storefronts. We can quickly adjust our product offerings, pricing, and promotions in response to changing market conditions. This flexibility allows us to stay ahead of the competition and adapt to the rapidly evolving hemp industry. Whether it’s a new product launch or a limited-time promotion, we can pivot quickly and make changes on the fly.

This agility has been particularly valuable in the hemp industry, where regulations and consumer preferences are constantly changing. By being nimble and responsive, we can stay ahead of the curve and capitalize on emerging trends.

Curating a Product Line that Delights

Although with limited space compared to traditional storefronts, we actually offer a much larger selection than virtually all other retailers in the state. Every inch of space is optimized, and we’ve managed to bring in brands that were never available in Hawai‘i before—names like Jeeter, Cookies, Litto, and other major California heavyweights that customers once had to travel or order online to find.

That mix of exclusivity and accessibility gives our kiosks the feeling of discovery. Our customers appreciate that we take the time to understand their preferences while constantly refreshing the lineup to keep things exciting. We’re not just transactional; we’re relational—and that’s why they keep coming back.

The Human Touch

One of the most rewarding aspects of our kiosk model is the human connection we make with our customers. We’re not just a faceless corporation; we’re a small, local business that genuinely cares. Our team is made up of locals with real island character—each with their own eccentric charm that reflects the community we serve. Beyond business, we actively give back through beach cleanups, native tree plantings, healing blind people, and collaborations with other local entrepreneurs. Supporting Hawai‘i’s small business ecosystem isn’t just a slogan for us—it’s part of who we are. We take the time to listen, to recommend, and to connect, and that authenticity is what transforms a quick sale into a lasting relationship.

The Future of Hemp Retail

As the hemp industry continues to evolve, I’m confident that our kiosk model will remain a winning strategy. We’re not just building a business; we’re building a brand and a lifestyle. And with our kiosk advantage, we’re well-positioned to succeed in the years to come.

In conclusion, our kiosk model has been a game-changer for our business. By embracing small retail, we’ve created a lean, agile, and customer-focused business that thrives in a competitive market. If you’re looking for a unique and effective way to retail hemp, I highly recommend giving the kiosk model a try. It might just be the best decision you ever make.

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

People think running a hemp business is about botany or legal loopholes. They’re wrong. It’s about retail fundamentals, and I learned them not in a boardroom, but on the front lines of Waikiki. Operating four small kiosks taught me more about business than any MBA ever could.

The single best decision I made was choosing four small footprints over one large store. Conventional wisdom said to build a destination dispensary. But tourists don’t plan hemp purchases; they make them on impulse. A single store can only capture one stream of foot traffic, while four strategic kiosks intercept customers throughout their day in multiple streams across different locations. The math of rent is equally compelling—four small locations cost less in total than one prime storefront, while diversifying my risk. If one spot has a slow day, the others compensate.

Success in tourist retail means becoming a student of human movement. I learned to read the rhythms of Waikiki: the morning rush to the beach, the exploratory late-morning wanderers, the evening crowds heading to dinner. I didn’t just look for the busiest streets; I looked for the decision points—where paths converge and tourists pause, deciding what to do next. That moment of hesitation is where a sale is won.

Building a team in Hawaii’s impossible labor market meant rethinking hiring. I stopped prioritizing hemp expertise and started hiring for attitude—genuine friendliness, reliability, and what I call “situational awareness.” You can teach someone about cannabinoids in a week; you can’t teach them to be punctual or perceptive. To keep them, I pay above market rate, treat scheduling with religious seriousness, and acknowledge that my employees have complex lives in a state with a punishing cost of living.

Our customer relationships are built in three-minute transactions. In that brief window, every second counts. We greet with immediate warmth, listen before we prescribe, and translate industry jargon into plain language. We empower customers to make their own choices rather than pushing products. This isn’t just customer service; it’s building trust in an industry where many customers are nervous. Our clean, professional kiosks and transparent policies reinforce that we have nothing to hide.

The mental challenge of operating in regulatory limbo is constant. I’ve learned to compartmentalize—to be fully present with customers and staff without letting the underlying anxiety show. I celebrate small wins explicitly to counter the weight of uncertainty, and I focus my energy on what I can control: how we treat people, how we manage inventory, and the quality of our service.

These lessons transcend hemp. They are about the universal fundamentals of retail: location must match your model, hire for character and train for skill, and trust is the ultimate competitive advantage. Cleanliness, staff presentation, and how you handle a complaint might seem like small details, but they compound into the single biggest factor in whether a business thrives or fails. No matter what happens with regulations, the capabilities forged in this pressure cooker are mine forever. And that is something no one can take away from me.

Lance Alyas
Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

That number has never changed. Not once. Not in the entire recorded history of cannabis and hemp in the United States has a single person died of a cannabinoid overdose. Not an adult. Not a teenager. Not a child. Zero fatalities. The number is not disputed. It is not a talking point. It is a medical and toxicological fact that no serious researcher anywhere on earth has successfully challenged.

Now let me give you the numbers that Anne Lopez, Kenneth Fink, and the rest of Hawai’i’s regulatory apparatus would prefer you never read in the same sentence as their names.

The Numbers They Bury

The CDC reported that last year alone, 4,000 Americans under 21 died from alcohol poisoning. Not accidents. Not drunk driving. The substance itself killed them. Here in Hawai’i, the Prevention Resource Center documented 600 alcohol-related deaths in a single year. Twelve were under 21. Twelve children dead from a substance sold at every grocery store, every resort minibar, every gas station within walking distance of every school on every island in this state.

I say this not as a statistic. I say it as someone who lost a family member to alcohol. I know what that grief does to a family. God bless everyone carrying that weight. I carry some of it myself.

But I also know exactly what a smokescreen looks like. And I know who is paid to generate it.

Follow the Money

When Anne Lopez mobilizes her office against federally compliant hemp retailers, ask yourself who benefits. When Kenneth Fink advances regulations designed to eliminate every hemp operator in this state, ask yourself who drafted them and whose attorneys were in the room. When legislators invoke the safety of children to justify criminalizing a product that has killed precisely nobody, ask yourself who is funding their campaigns and hosting their fundraisers.

The answer is not complicated. Hawai’i’s licensed medical cannabis dispensaries paid millions for state-protected monopoly licenses designed from inception to prevent competition. Eight licenses. The entire state. A closed market maintained by legislative capture so brazen it would embarrass a first-year political science student. When that wall is threatened by small, federally compliant hemp operators, these businesses do not compete or innovate. They make phone calls. They write checks. And then, with remarkable efficiency, the Attorney General and the Department of Health discover an urgent public health crisis that nobody noticed until it started costing the monopoly market share.

That is not governance. That is a protection racket with a state seal on the letterhead.

“Protecting the Children”

When officials invoke child safety to justify this campaign, they are not making a public health argument. A public health argument requires data. And the data does not support a single element of their position. Cannabis and hemp have killed zero people. Zero children. Zero adults. The number has never moved.

Meanwhile the substance they license and sell in every tourist corridor on this island killed 600 people in Hawai’i in a single year. Twelve were under 21. And no narcotics division ran undercover operations into Waikīkī bars. No Attorney General held a press conference about the epidemic killing children with the product that generates hundreds of millions in tax revenue and employs the donors.

Instead they came for the hemp kiosks. The businesses with zero documented overdose deaths in the entire history of the product’s existence.

If Attorney General Anne Lopez or Department of Health Director Kenneth Fink can produce a single peer-reviewed study, a single coroner’s report, a single documented fatality attributable to hemp — I will adjust my position accordingly and issue a public apology to them!

That offer stands. It has never been accepted, though, and surely won’t ever be because they can’t produce a document that does not exist. They can’t point to a crisis that does not exist. What exists is a monopoly losing money and officials paid to protect it.

What Actually Protects Children

Real child protection looks like mandatory consumer education, child-resistant packaging enforced uniformly, a properly funded poison control infrastructure, and honest science-based labeling. That framework I support without reservation. That conversation I will have with any lawmaker or parent in this state who wants to have it with the actual numbers on the table and the lobbyist checks disclosed.

What I will never accept is criminalizing businesses that the data has never implicated in a single death, while the actual killing continues at 600 per year and nobody on Beretania Street loses a moment of sleep.

Zero is still zero.

The only question left is whether the people running this state are too corrupt to say it out loud — or simply too compromised to care!

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

360.

Not degrees. Deaths. That’s right, 360 deaths. That is how many people died of drug overdoses in Hawai’i in 2024.

Three hundred and sixty people on these islands in a single year — a 43% increase since 2021. Methamphetamine killed 275 of them. A 50% single-year surge. Eleven people under 21 died of drug overdoses in 2023, most of them killed not by meth but by counterfeit prescription pills pressed with fentanyl — fake Xanax, fake Adderall, fake Percocet — that look identical to legitimate medication and can be lethal in a single dose.

Cannabis and hemp? Zero. Z. E. R. O. The number has never moved.

The Crisis That Doesn’t Fit the Narrative

When state officials invoke public health as justification for their enforcement priorities, those words carry an implicit promise — that the machinery of government is aimed at actual threats, in proportion to actual harm. That the resources follow the bodies.

In Hawai’i in 2024, the bodies were with methamphetamine. Two hundred and seventy-five of them. A 50% single-year surge that should have triggered emergency sessions, crisis funding, and full mobilization of every public health dollar in this state.

Instead, Kenneth Fink’s Department of Health advanced regulations targeting hemp retailers. Anne Lopez’s office pursued enforcement actions against businesses selling a product with a death count of zero. The legislature found urgency to close the hemp loophole while the meth loophole — the one that swallowed 275 people last year — remains wide open.

This is not a resource allocation question. It is a values question. And the values on display are not the ones these officials campaign on!

The Children They Should Actually Be Protecting

Every parent in this state should understand what is actually threatening their child. It is not a hemp kiosk. It is a counterfeit pill that looks exactly like a legitimate prescription, costs less than a movie ticket, and can stop a heart before anyone reaches a phone. That is the emergency. That is where the press conferences should be.

The fact that they aren’t tells you everything about what is actually driving enforcement priorities in this state!

What Zero Means

Zero does not mean hemp is without risk or that no regulation is warranted. But it does unequivocally mean that in the entire documented history of cannabis and hemp in the United States, no coroner has ever listed either as a cause of death. Not once. Meanwhile Hawai’i’s drug-related emergency department visits increased 36% between 2021 and 2023. Pediatric and adolescent admissions rose sharply, driven almost entirely by synthetic opioid exposure. NOT ONE of those cases involved hemp!

Real child protection looks like aggressive interdiction of the fentanyl supply chain pressing counterfeit pills into teenage social networks. It looks like treatment infrastructure that can absorb a 36% surge without turning people away. It looks like a Department of Health that wakes up every morning with meth and fentanyl at the top of its list and doesn’t move on until those numbers stop climbing.

That is the conversation I will have with any official in this state willing to have it honestly, with the actual mortality data on the table.

Zero is still zero. Three hundred and sixty is not.

The difference between those two numbers is where the priorities of this state should live.

Right now, they don’t!

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

There’s a deal every citizen is supposed to have with the government. Nobody signs it. It’s not on any website. But we all understand its terms: we give up certain freedoms in exchange for order, and in return the state operates within boundaries that are visible, accountable, and fair. That’s the contract. And in Hawai’i, it is broken so routinely that most people have stopped noticing.

I notice. I notice because I’ve been on the wrong end of it.

Four Hundred Pages of Nothing

Over four hundred pages of police reports were generated about me and my business. What those documents revealed was striking — not for what they said, but for what they refused to say. Roughly half were redacted. Entire sections blacked out. Full pages with nothing visible except a header and a footer, as if someone wanted me to know a page existed but not a single word of what was on it. Surveillance plans. Operational details. Names. Methods. All hidden behind a wall of ink paid for by the taxpayers of this state, about an investigation funded by the taxpayers of this state, targeting a business that operates openly on the streets of Waikīkī. Although I’m a supporter and a friend of many of our police officers, this is extremely shady and wrong. I know this isn’t totally their fault. They’re forced to follow orders of the corrupt.

This was not a cartel investigation. Nobody was cooking fentanyl. Nobody was trafficking people. This was about hemp — a plant that is legal under federal law, sold in retail stores across every state in this country. The full machinery of a Honolulu narcotics division was deployed against it. Undercover officers. Surveillance teams. Forensic lab work. Search warrants. A circuit court judge’s time.

When the dust settled, no prosecution was pursued. The charges were declined or closed. The State of Hawai’i spent what is conservatively and cautiously estimated by legal experts to be a whopping $126,000 of taxpayer money on me to produce absolutely NOTHING! Even more nauseating, they redacted half the record so nobody could see how the nothing was produced!

That’s the part that should concern every resident of this state. Not just the waste — the asymmetry. Rules for thee but not for me attitude.

What They Demand of You

Think about what the government demands when it decides you’re interesting. Think about what it demands of every legitimate, sincere, honest hemp retailer, in fact! It demands your name. Your address. Your phone number. Your social security number. Your employer. Your vehicle registration. Your height, weight, eye color. Your text messages. Your fingerprints. They photograph you. They want to know what’s in your pockets, your car, your backpack.

Now try asking Hawai’i’s government the same questions in return. Or Attorney General Anne Lopez. Or our Department of Health Director Kenneth Fink.

Try asking what some of the officers of the Honolulu Police Department itself was smoking when it decided on planning this operation, deploying all these officers, wasting $126,000 of taxpayer funds, and more! Ask them why such a lengthy investigation was allowed to continue when the underlying product was federally legal! It was only closed immediately after we filed the FOIA!

Ask, and you shall receive—a stack of paper replete with black bars instead of answers!

The Double Standard Every Business Owner Knows

Every business owner in Hawai’i understands this on a gut level. The state demands radical transparency from you — tax returns, employee records, compliance filings, product testing results, insurance certificates, zoning applications, building permits, fire inspections. If a single form is late, a single certificate expired, a single inspection missed, the consequences are immediate and severe.

But turn the lens around and ask the State of Hawai’i to account for its own actions with the same granularity? Suddenly there are exemptions. Redactions. Timelines that stretch from days to years. That asymmetry is not accidental. It is the architecture. Built this way on purpose. To lie, deceive, control and manipulate is their goal.

If I ran a single one of my locations the way the government runs all of its own, I’d be out of business overnight! And that is why I will never accept the premise that the State of Hawai’i has a right to know everything about me while I have no right to know what it did with my tax dollars and my name.

That’s not security. That’s not order. That’s a one-way mirror.

And it’s time someone finally turned the damn lights on before it’s too late!

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

For months, the State of Hawaiʻi has claimed its crackdown on federally legal hemp was about public health, consumer safety, and protecting residents.

That narrative just collapsed — in the State’s own federal court filing.

Three government lawyers.

Thirty-three pages.

Zero documented instances of harm from hemp in Hawaiʻi.

And on Page 29 of yesterday’s filing (ECF #27 on the docket) the State accidentally told the truth.

The Admission That Changes Everything

Buried in a legislative committee report cited by the State itself, lawmakers explained why hemp needed to be shut down. Not because people were getting hurt. Not because products were unsafe.

But because hemp businesses were:

“significantly impacting the regulated medical cannabis industry in the State.”

That is a direct quote from the Legislature’s findings, cited as part of the State’s defense in federal court.

Read that again.

Hemp wasn’t criminalized because it was dangerous.

It was criminalized because it was competitive.

Let’s Be Clear About What This Means

According to the State’s own filing:

    •    Hemp businesses were operating legally under federal law

    •    Consumers were choosing hemp products voluntarily

    •    No evidence of public harm was presented

Yet lawmakers concluded enforcement was necessary because hemp was cutting into the profits of state-licensed medical cannabis operators.

That is not public health policy.

That is economic protectionism.

From Law-Abiding Businesses to Criminals Overnight

As a result of this policy choice:

    •    Small, local hemp businesses were suddenly treated like criminals

    •    Mom-and-pop shops faced raids, seizures, and shutdowns

    •    Entrepreneurs who followed federal law were thrown into legal chaos

At the same time, Hawaiʻi taxpayers are now funding a prolonged federal legal battle — paying government attorneys, staff time, and enforcement costs — to defend a law whose own justification admits it was designed to protect a monopoly.

This lawsuit has not been cheap for anyone involved. And it didn’t have to exist at all.

This Was Never About Safety

If this were about safety, the State would have shown:

    •    Documented injuries

    •    Poison control spikes

    •    Hospitalizations

    •    Consumer harm

It showed none of that.

Instead, it showed concern about market impact.

That distinction matters — legally, constitutionally, and morally.

Governments are not allowed to criminalize lawful commerce simply to shield favored industries from competition.

Read the Receipts Yourself

This isn’t speculation.

It isn’t rhetoric.

It’s in the record.

Federal Case No. 1:26-cv-00035

See Page 29 of the State’s own filing (ECF #27).

The words are theirs.

This Fight Isn’t Over

This case is still active. The implications go far beyond hemp, cannabis, or Hawaiʻi. If a state can openly admit it criminalized a lawful industry to protect another industry’s profits — and get away with it — then no small business is truly safe.

Sunlight matters. Accountability matters.

And this story deserves to be seen before it gets buried.

Onward we go. ⚔️

The American hemp industry is facing one of its most consequential legal moments since the passage of the 2018 Farm Bill.

Right now, I’m in active federal litigation in Hawaiʻi, challenging the State’s regulatory interpretation that conflicts with federal hemp law. That interpretation did not go unchallenged. As a result of this litigation, Hawaiʻi is currently in a grace period, with enforcement effectively paused while the courts examine fundamental legal and constitutional questions.

The State understands what’s at stake. Premature enforcement—before constitutional clarity—would expose significant legal vulnerabilities in its position.

But this fight doesn’t stop at Hawaiʻi’s shoreline.

The Federal Provision Explained

At the federal level, a government-funding bill signed by President Trump included a provision that would fundamentally alter the regulatory treatment of intoxicating hemp products nationwide. That provision has sent shockwaves through the hemp and cannabinoid markets, threatening businesses that have operated in federal compliance for years.

This isn’t a marginal issue. It directly impacts hemp-derived THC products, intoxicating hemp cannabinoids, retail hemp stores, manufacturers, distributors, farmers, and interstate commerce protected under the Farm Bill framework.

And now, that federal provision is being openly challenged.

Congressional Opposition to the Federal Provision

The pushback against the federal hemp provision is being led by Representative Nancy Mace of South Carolina, who has emerged as the most vocal opponent of the intoxicating-hemp restriction inserted into federal spending legislation.

She is not alone. Working alongside her are Representatives Zoe Lofgren, Thomas Massie, Rand Paul, and Jim Baird. Together, they are actively working to reverse the federal intoxicating-hemp provision, restore regulatory consistency with the Farm Bill, and protect lawful hemp commerce nationwide.

This bipartisan alignment matters. It signals that the hemp issue is no longer peripheral—it’s squarely on Congress’s radar and receiving serious legislative attention.

Why Hawaiʻi Matters in the National Hemp Legal Landscape

Hawaiʻi’s regulatory interpretation mirrors the same legal vulnerabilities now being exposed at the federal level: conflicts with established federal hemp law, Commerce Clause concerns, due process questions, and regulatory action that potentially exceeds statutory authority.

That’s why Hawaiʻi has paused. And that’s why the outcome here matters far beyond one state.

When a jurisdiction attempts to move faster than constitutional limits allow, it risks losing far more than a single enforcement action—it risks creating precedent that undermines its entire regulatory position.

Pressure Is Building on Both Fronts

Pressure is now mounting at both levels:

At the state level, Hawaiʻi’s enforcement posture is constrained by active federal litigation and unresolved constitutional questions. At the federal level, members of Congress are moving to unwind a provision that threatens a multi-billion-dollar industry built on Farm Bill compliance.

This convergence isn’t accidental. It’s the natural result of regulatory interpretations being pushed beyond their constitutional limits.

The Future of the American Hemp Industry

I’m confident in the constitutional framework that governs this issue. Federal hemp law established clear standards. The Supremacy Clause protects those standards from conflicting state restriction.

And when Congress acts to protect the industry it explicitly authorized, that legislative intent matters.

To everyone in the hemp industry—retailers, farmers, manufacturers, and consumers—this moment is significant. The legal principles at stake extend far beyond any single case or jurisdiction. They determine whether federal law means what it says and whether constitutional protections have practical force.

Stay informed. Stay engaged. And understand that the fight to defend lawful commerce under federal statute is being waged on multiple fronts—with real stakes and real consequences.

This is about more than hemp. It’s about whether federal authorization means anything at all.

“This is not the first time these plaintiffs have filed this complaint. The department of the attorney general prevailed in the prior case.”

That’s not just misleading. It’s a flat lie!

What Actually Happened

Yes, we filed a previous case. The judge dismissed it—but not because the state “prevailed.” The judge dismissed it without prejudice specifically so we could refile with more precision about how the state’s definition and enforcement scheme violates federal law.

Here’s what the Attorney General’s office conveniently forgot to mention: They asked the judge to dismiss our case WITH prejudice—meaning we could never refile it. The judge refused. Instead, the court dismissed the case without prejudice, explicitly allowing us to come back with a more focused complaint.

That’s not vindication. That’s the opposite.

The court gave us a roadmap. We followed it. We filed a stronger, more precise complaint that directly addresses the constitutional problems with Hawaii’s approach.

Why This Matters

When government lawyers misrepresent court outcomes to the press, it’s not just bad form—it erodes public trust.

The Attorney General’s office knows the difference between dismissal with prejudice and without prejudice. They know what it means when a court refuses their request to bar refiling. They know that “prevailed” suggests they won on the merits, when in reality the court simply asked us to be more specific.

They said it anyway.

The Real Story

Our original complaint raised legitimate constitutional questions. The court didn’t reject those questions—it asked us to sharpen them.

So we did.

The new complaint is more detailed, more precise, and more focused on exactly how Hawaii’s post-decarboxylation testing standard conflicts with federal law, exceeds statutory authority, burdens interstate commerce, and denies due process.

We clarified how the state converts THCA into delta-9 THC through administrative formulas not found in statute. We detailed how Act 269 escalated from administrative regulation to criminal enforcement. We explained how the seizure and forfeiture provisions operate without adequate pre-deprivation process.

That’s not refiling the same case. That’s doing exactly what the court invited us to do.

What “Prevailed” Actually Means

In legal terms, prevailing means winning on the merits. It means the court agreed with your argument and rejected the other side’s claims.

That didn’t happen.

What happened is procedural housekeeping. The court gave us an opportunity to clarify our claims, and we took it.

If the Attorney General’s office actually believed they “prevailed,” they wouldn’t have asked the judge to dismiss with prejudice. You only ask for that when you’re worried the other side will come back stronger.

We did.

Moving Forward

I’m not interested in a media fight with the state. I’m interested in constitutional questions being answered correctly.

But when the Attorney General’s office distorts the record to make it sound like they already won a case they haven’t even answered yet, someone needs to set it straight.

We’re not refiling because we’re stubborn. We’re refiling because the court told us to clarify our claims and come back.

We clarified them. We came back.

Now let’s see if the state can defend criminalizing federally legal conduct on the merits—instead of through press statements that misrepresent what actually happened in court!

The Simple Version

In 2018, Congress legalized hemp. The definition was crystal clear: cannabis with no more than 0.3% delta-9 THC is hemp, not marijuana. Period.

Hawaii initially agreed. The state even declared hemp “a high-value crop with the potential to bring significant and diverse revenues to Hawaii, with more than fifty thousand recognized uses.”

We built our businesses on that foundation. So did countless others across the islands.

Then Hawaii changed the rules—and made what Congress legalized criminal again.

How It Happened

In 2020, Hawaii slipped new language into its hemp definition that allowed regulators to use “post-decarboxylation” testing. That technical term hides a massive shift: the state now converts THCA—a non-intoxicating compound found naturally in raw hemp—into delta-9 THC using a mathematical formula.

Products that are unquestionably legal under federal law suddenly became questionable under state law.

This year, it got worse. Much worse.

Act 269, effective January 1st, didn’t just create paperwork—it created crimes. Selling federally legal hemp that fails Hawaii’s unique testing standard is now a misdemeanor. Second offense? Felony.

The law also authorizes immediate seizure and destruction of inventory. No hearing. No chance to defend yourself. The statute explicitly relieves the state of any responsibility for seized products—meaning they can destroy everything before you ever see a judge.

What’s Really At Stake

This isn’t about regulatory compliance. We support reasonable oversight, proper testing, accurate labeling. This is about whether states can simply re-criminalize what Congress deliberately legalized.

If Hawaii can do this, what stops every other state from inventing their own testing standards? What happens to the uniform national market Congress created? How does any business operate when a product can be legal in 49 states but criminal in one?

The answer is: they can’t!

The Constitutional Problem

Our lawsuit asks four straightforward questions:

1. Can a state make criminal what Congress made legal? No—that’s what the Supremacy Clause prevents!

2. Can bureaucrats exceed their authority and create new crimes through administrative rules? The legislature authorized testing protocols, not redefinitions of hemp through conversion formulas.

3. Can a state shut down interstate commerce by imposing unique standards found nowhere else? Not when it destroys the national market Congress deliberately created.

4. Can the government seize and destroy your property without a hearing? The Constitution says you get due process before deprivation, not after your business is already gone.

What We’re Actually Asking For

We’re not trying to dismantle Hawaii’s hemp program. We’re asking for something remarkably modest:

Stop treating federally legal products as illegal. Stop seizing and destroying property without due process.

That’s it. Inspect us. Regulate us. Hold us to high standards. Just don’t criminalize federal law!

Why This Fight Matters

Someone had to draw the line.

The hemp industry has worked hard to operate responsibly. We’ve advocated for smart regulations. We’ve supported testing and labeling requirements. We’ve been willing partners in building a legitimate market.

But we cannot—and will not—accept a system where doing everything right under federal law still results in criminal prosecution and business destruction under state law.

What Happens Next

We’ve filed for a preliminary injunction to pause enforcement while the case proceeds. The court will hear arguments, review evidence, and decide whether Hawaii’s approach violates the Constitution.

Whatever happens, I’m proud we’re taking this stand. Not just for our businesses, but for every hemp operator in Hawaii and every small business owner who’s ever wondered: what happens when state law and federal law collide?

Well….we’re about to find out!

Lance Alyas,

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

There’s a difference between showing up and showing up with something to say. This weekend, Oahu Dispensary and Provisions is doing the latter.

The hemp landscape in Hawaii is shifting fast. New laws aren’t abstractions or fine print—they’re the boundaries that will determine who gets to operate, who survives, and how this industry serves the community going forward.

For those of us who have built businesses around federally compliant hemp, these aren’t hypothetical debates. They’re existential ones.

That reality is why we’re not just walking the floor at the 9th Annual Hawaii Cannabis Expo. We’re taking the stage.

I’m proud to announce that Aaron Nichols, our Head of Marketing and Brand Development, will be representing ODP on one of the weekend’s most consequential panels. Aaron brings over 17 years of experience scaling brands in highly regulated industries—work that’s earned him recognition precisely because he knows how to navigate red tape without losing sight of the mission. On Saturday, he’s bringing that perspective to the Blaisdell.

The Panel: Hemp & Cannabis—New Laws and the Emerging 2026 Agenda

Saturday, January 31st, 3:00–4:30 PM, Hawaii Suites (1st Floor)

This isn’t an introductory seminar. It’s a working session on where hemp regulation stands, what’s coming, and what it means for everyone with a stake in this plant. Aaron will be joined by a lineup that reflects the breadth of voices this conversation requires: Nikos Leverenz, President of the Drug Policy Forum of Hawai’i, moderating; Aaron Zeeman, founder of Big Island Genetics and author of The Hemp Ritual Handbook, representing the legacy cultivator perspective; and Rob Bramlett of Rare Cannabinoid Company, bringing the science and education side.

They’ll be dissecting the specific regulations affecting hemp operators right now and mapping the agenda for the rest of the year.

The session closes with a Q&A—your opportunity to put questions directly to people who are actually in the trenches, not just commenting from the sidelines.

Whether you’re a hemp retailer, a cultivator, an advocate, or simply someone who believes this plant deserves a smarter regulatory framework than what we’ve seen so far, this is a session worth attending.

The future of hemp in Hawaii isn’t going to be handed to us. It’s going to be built by the people who show up and engage.

We intend to be part of that building. We hope you’ll join us!

Thanks to committed citizens and upright, honest individuals, the internal emails from the Department of Health (DOH), have now let me know what they were saying behind my back.

Instead of addressing the economic crisis they created, DOH leadership—from Program Managers to Directors—spent their time drafting “correction letters” to the media to discredit me. Their narrative? That our products have “never been legal” and that essentially, I and all other hemp retailers have no right to complain because our business was supposedly built on non-compliance. 

This is gaslighting, pure and simple. And we need to call it out.

1. The “Passive Permission” Trap

The DOH claims in their internal emails that hemp flower, pre-rolls, and vapes were “prohibited prior to Act 269”. 

If these products were always illegal, why did the state allow us to open storefronts on main streets in Waikiki? Why did they issue us business licenses? Why did they happily collect our General Excise Tax (GET) payments for years on these exact products?

They watched us build an industry. They profited from it. And now that they have decided to change the enforcement game, they are rewriting history to pretend we were “rogue actors” the entire time.

They permitted a market to flourish through their own inaction, and now they are using that inaction to paint us as criminals.

2. The “Total THC” Bait-and-Switch

The DOH argues that Hawaii has “long defined hemp using a ‘total THC’ standard” and that Act 269 changes nothing. 

This is a deliberate distortion of reality. We built our businesses based on the 2018 Federal Farm Bill, which legalized hemp containing less than 0.3% Delta-9 THC. The DOH knows this. By enforcing their own restrictive “Total THC” calculation (adding THCA + Delta-9), they are effectively re-criminalizing products that are federally legal.

This is in fact exactly what I’m suing them for!

They let us operate under the federal standard for years. Now, they are retroactively enforcing a state technicality to wipe us out, claiming they are just “clarifying” the rules. 

3. “Clarification” vs. Criminalization

In their emails to reporters, DOH officials repeatedly insist that Act 269 “does not change [the] legal status” of these products, but simply “clarifies registration and enforcement requirements”. 

Let’s be clear: A law that introduces felony charges, product seizures, and nuisance closures is not a “clarification.” It is an ambush.

Calling this a “clarification” is a PR tactic designed to hide the truth: The state is moving the goalposts and arming themselves with new weapons to prosecute business owners who operated in good faith.

The Truth They Won’t Admit

The DOH’s strategy is clear. They want to delegitimize us. They want the public to believe that we didn’t lose our businesses—they want you to believe we never had valid businesses to begin with.

They are attacking our credibility to avoid taking responsibility for the confusion they created and the livelihoods they are destroying.

We operated openly. We followed the federal Farm Bill. We served our community. We will not let the DOH rewrite history to cover up their own regulatory failures.

Lance Alyas,

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

Hawaiians and Chaldeans both come from ancient, land-centered civilizations. Hawaiʻi was a sovereign kingdom with international recognition, its own governance, diplomacy, and economic systems long before annexation. They even had electricity in ʻIolani Palace before the White House did! Chaldeans trace their roots to Mesopotamia, to Babylon—one of the earliest cradles of human civilization. Both cultures were deeply spiritual, family-oriented, and rooted in stewardship rather than conquest. Both existed in regions of enormous strategic and economic value. Babylon sat at the center of some of the most important global trade routes. Hawaiʻi stands as an island of sheer willpower — the heartbeat of the Pacific. Both are extraordinarily rich societies, not merely in resources, but in culture, continuity, and identity.

That richness in both attracted their shares of outside global interests. History shows what tends to follow.

Hawaiʻi was taken through political overthrow, economic coercion, and forced annexation. Queen Liliʻuokalani, fully aware of the imbalance of power, made an important decision that spared her people from mass slaughter. Many Hawaiians were forced to assimilate, but the people survived. The culture endured. The land remained. The language—though deliberately suppressed—is now being reclaimed. Sovereignty movements still exist because there is still a homeland to fight for and still a people capable of resisting total erasure.

My people, the Chaldeans, were not afforded that outcome.

Our homeland was not occupied—it was destroyed. Cities that stood for thousands of years were reduced to rubble. Entire communities were slaughtered, displaced, and scattered across the world. Today, there is no homeland to return to. There is no Babylon to reclaim. Our language—Aramaic, the language Christ spoke—is dying, unlike ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi which is being revitalized. By every measurable standard, Chaldeans lost more. Acknowledging that reality does not diminish Hawaiian suffering. It clarifies how close Hawaiʻi itself came to total erasure.

As my public profile grows, I want to be clear about why this history matters to me. I am not here to leave damage behind. I recognize Hawaiʻi’s past precisely because I come from a people shaped by the same forces—foreign intervention, broken promises, and imperialism. The awareness of our similarities imposes my obligation to Hawaiʻi. Respect for the land. Respect for the people. Respect for a history that did not begin with American arrival.

This is not an anti-American argument. It is a critique of government power when it subordinates self-determination to strategic control and economic gain. You can love this country and still acknowledge where it violated its own principles. You can be proud to be American and still recognize that annexation without consent—here or anywhere—was wrong. That distinction is not academic in Hawaiʻi. It is lived reality.

If I defend federal law today, it is because I have seen what happens when governments decide the law no longer matters. When legality becomes optional, the strong take what they want and the vulnerable lose everything. Federal law was ignored in 1893 when Hawaiʻi was taken. It was ignored again when my homeland was invaded then abandoned to chaos. Defending law—however imperfect—is often the only barrier communities have against unchecked power.

Despite everything, Hawaiians and Chaldeans share something rare: cultures built on care rather than conquest, stewardship rather than exploitation. Both value elders as living memory. Both understand identity as something inherited and protected, not casually discarded. Both see land as deep relationship, not a commodity. Hawaiians protected their people through restraint when war would have meant annihilation. Chaldeans survived through dispersion, assimilation, and quiet endurance in exile. Different strategies. Comparable costs.

I did not come to Hawaiʻi to overwrite history or pretend it does not exist. I came knowing that cultures like mine survive only when people listen first, build second, and never extract without giving back. Every decision I make carries a simple question: does this contribute, or does it repeat the same patterns that destroyed my own people’s homeland?

Hawaiʻi still has its land. It still has its voice. It still has a future. That reality deserves respect, protection, and humility from anyone who chooses to build a life here.

Lance Alyas

Owner, Oahu Dispensary and Provisions

Not because it’s inflammatory. Not because it’s reckless. But because it points directly at something enormous, profitable, and deliberately kept quiet for a very long time.

When people talk about world-changing technologies, the conversation almost always centers on artificial intelligence. And for good reason. AI will reshape productivity, logistics, information flow, and entire categories of work.

But there is another disruptor—one that has been underestimated for decades—that touches energy, materials, medicine, agriculture, manufacturing, and consumer goods all at once.

That disruptor isn’t software.

It isn’t code.

It’s a plant.

Why Hemp and Cannabis Are Different From AI

AI is a horizontal technology. It improves how existing systems operate. It accelerates processes, optimizes decisions, and compresses time.

Hemp and cannabis are different. They are foundational technologies. They don’t just improve systems; they replace them.

Where AI optimizes supply chains, hemp can eliminate them. Where AI refines industrial processes, cannabis and hemp can displace the materials those processes depend on. Their impact isn’t necessarily faster—it’s broader.

That distinction matters.

Why This Plant Was Feared in the First Place

Before prohibition, hemp was a major agricultural staple. It was used for paper, rope, textiles, oils, and medicine, and it was widely cultivated across the United States and Europe.

Hemp wasn’t sidelined because it was dangerous. It was sidelined because it was inconvenient.

A fast-growing plant that requires fewer chemical inputs, replenishes soil, and produces fiber, fuel, food, and medicine from a single crop is a threat to industries built on scarcity, patents, and extraction. Hemp compresses supply chains. It localizes production. It weakens monopolies.

That kind of efficiency doesn’t fit neatly into centralized industrial models.

Industry by Industry, the Disruption Is Obvious

Modern paper production depends on slow-growing trees, deforestation, and chemical-intensive processing. Hemp grows in a few months, yields significantly more fiber per acre, requires fewer bleaching agents, and can be recycled more times than wood pulp. Large-scale adoption would fundamentally alter forestry economics.

Most plastics are petroleum-based, non-biodegradable, and environmentally persistent. Hemp-based bioplastics are renewable, biodegradable, and already viable for packaging, automotive components, and consumer goods. That directly threatens petrochemical supply chains.

Energy tells a similar story. Hemp biomass can be converted into ethanol, biodiesel, and biochar, producing high yields per acre and, in some applications, net carbon-negative outcomes. It doesn’t replace oil overnight, but it undermines the idea that fossil fuels are the only scalable option.

Textiles reveal another fault line. Cotton requires enormous water use, heavy pesticide application, and contributes to soil degradation. Hemp fiber uses far less water, fewer chemicals, and produces stronger, longer-lasting fabric. A serious shift toward hemp would disrupt industrial cotton and fast-fashion economics.

Medicine may be the most sensitive disruption. Pharmaceutical models rely heavily on patented compounds and long-term dependency. Cannabinoids interact directly with the endocannabinoid system, which regulates pain, inflammation, mood, sleep, and immune response. Cannabis doesn’t replace modern medicine—but it reduces reliance on opioids, sleep aids, and anti-inflammatory drugs, often without patent protection.

Even alcohol and tobacco aren’t immune. Data from legal markets already shows reduced alcohol consumption and substitution away from nicotine. This isn’t just a product shift; it’s a behavioral one, and it cuts directly into multi-billion-dollar industries.

Why This Is Still So Heavily Regulated

The continued suppression of cannabis and hemp isn’t just about public safety. It’s about managing disruption.

Widespread hemp adoption decentralizes production. It favors farmers, small manufacturers, and local economies. It reduces dependency on proprietary systems and centralized infrastructure.

AI, by contrast, often concentrates power—in data centers, corporations, and closed models.

That difference matters.

Regulation as a Gatekeeping Tool

Regulation doesn’t always stop innovation. Often, it decides who gets to participate.

High compliance costs favor large, well-capitalized players and eliminate smaller operators. This pattern has repeated itself in energy, finance, healthcare, and now cannabis and hemp. The result isn’t safety—it’s consolidation.

The Actual Future

The future isn’t a choice between artificial intelligence and cannabis.

It’s AI optimizing hemp-based systems: regenerative farming managed by data, supply chains optimized by machine learning, and cannabinoid research accelerated through computational modeling.

One represents digital intelligence.

The other represents biological infrastructure.

Together, they reshape how civilization builds, feeds, heals, and powers itself.

Final Thought

Cannabis and hemp aren’t controversial because they’re dangerous. They’re controversial because they’re useful.

They threaten monopolies, centralized control, extractive industries, and scarcity-based economics. That’s why they were suppressed. That’s why they remain tightly regulated.

The most transformative technologies don’t always look like technology.

Sometimes, they grow quietly—until they don’t.

And now you see why I may get killed for writing this.

Retailers are being told that a grace period exists, yet at the same time they are warned of potential penalties that include fines of up to $10,000 per offense, product embargoes, seizures, and destruction of inventory. That combination — enforcement authority without a defined timeline — puts businesses in an impossible position.

As the owner of a Hawaii-based hemp retail business and someone quoted in the article, I said it plainly: although we’re relying on the grace period, we still don’t know what it is. It doesn’t feel good to be left in the dark. The lack of transparency and delay with this is irresponsible. That statement reflects a real operational problem, not political posturing.

Being told a grace period exists is not the same as being told what it is. In any regulated industry, timelines matter. Retailers must make decisions about inventory, staffing, training, and compliance in real time. When enforcement dates are unclear, some businesses pull products prematurely out of fear, while others hesitate to invest or expand because they don’t know when rules will suddenly be enforced. Several retailers, including myself, have not received direct communication from the Office of Medical Cannabis Control and Regulation, despite public statements suggesting the industry has been informed.

This uncertainty does not only affect business owners. Hemp retail in Hawaii supports thousands of workers, from frontline staff to vendors and distributors. When businesses cannot plan around a clear enforcement timeline, hours are cut, hiring is paused, orders are delayed, and payroll decisions become more conservative. These impacts land first on workers who have no control over regulatory communication but feel the consequences immediately.

Most hemp retailers in Hawaii are not asking to avoid regulation. They are asking for clarity. Clear timelines allow businesses to comply responsibly and protect employees, customers, and lawful inventory. Ambiguity does the opposite. When penalties are clearly defined but timelines are not, fear replaces compliance and confusion replaces cooperation.

The Department of Health has stated that a grace period will be provided before enforcement begins. Until that grace period is formally defined and clearly communicated, uncertainty will continue to ripple through the industry and cause unnecessary damage. Transparency is not optional when enforcement power includes fines, seizures, and destruction of product.

I’ll continue documenting this as it develops.

One of my employees recently pulled me aside and asked a question no business owner ever wants to hear from someone who depends on their job to survive: “Am I going to lose my job?”

She wasn’t being dramatic. She wasn’t overreacting. She was responding to uncertainty that has been growing quietly across Hawaii’s hemp industry.

She has rent to pay. Bills. Responsibilities. A routine she relies on. Like most people, she built her life around the assumption that if she followed the rules, showed up to work, and did her job well, she would be able to support herself.

Right now, that assumption feels fragile.

What she’s feeling is not unique. It’s not limited to one store, one island, or one employee. It’s the same fear being felt by workers across more than 100 hemp-related businesses in Hawaii.

Behind every hemp retail store is not just an owner, but employees. People who stock shelves, help customers, manage inventory, and keep the doors open day after day. When laws change abruptly, those people are the first to feel it.

What makes this moment especially difficult is the lack of clarity.

As of now, the State of Hawaii has not provided a clear grace period for businesses to adapt. There has been no meaningful transition window for inventory already purchased, already tested, and already stocked under the prior rules.

That matters. A grace period is not a loophole. It is a basic tool of fair regulation. It allows businesses to wind down compliant inventory, adjust operations, and protect workers from sudden economic shock.

Without it, uncertainty spreads fast.

Employees start wondering if their hours will be cut. If their job will still exist next month. If they should start looking elsewhere, even when there may be nowhere else to go.

This is what regulatory impact looks like on the ground. Not headlines. Not talking points. Real people quietly worrying about whether they’ll still be able to pay their bills.

Small businesses don’t have the buffer that large corporations do. We don’t have layers of redundancy. When inventory becomes unsellable overnight, it doesn’t just hit a balance sheet. It hits payroll.

That is why this issue goes far beyond hemp.

Any industry can be placed in this position when rules change without transition, clarity, or acknowledgment of downstream impact. Today it’s hemp. Tomorrow it could be something else.

My employee’s fear is not an isolated story. It is a reflection of what happens when policy moves faster than the lives it affects.

This is why I chose to speak up and sue the government. Not just for my business, but for the people who rely on it. The ones who don’t get to sit at policy tables or hire teams of lobbyists, but who feel the consequences immediately.

Regulation should protect the public without ruining livelihoods overnight. That balance matters.

Right now, too many people are left waiting in uncertainty. And that silence is the most damaging part of all.

A man came in to shop with us who, at first glance, looked homeless. You could tell immediately that life had taken its toll on him. He was trembling badly, almost non-verbal, and it took him a long time to respond—even while looking you directly in the eyes. His skin was bruised, his body worn down, dirty, and clearly unwell. It was obvious he’d suffered some form of brain damage, likely from years of drug abuse and living on the streets of Waikiki.

He was struggling. And he wasn’t trying to hide it.

During our interaction, he told us he waits two hours for us to open almost every morning. I see him outside nearly every day, but I never realized how long he was waiting. I went back and checked the camera footage afterward. He wasn’t exaggerating. He also told me—word for word—that he loves our kamaʻāina specials because of how good of a deal we offer on certain products.

Then he said something that stopped me.

He mentioned that his case manager drops him off.

That genuinely shocked me. I didn’t even realize that was something case managers did. Whether it’s technically allowed or not, I’m keeping his identity private out of respect. But if what he said is true, it told me a few things immediately. First, he’s using our products for real relief—whether that’s pain, withdrawals, anxiety, or something else entirely. Second, the fact that a case manager is willing to drive him forty minutes just to bring him here says everything about how important this place is to him.

That realization actually made me overjoyed.

It told me he’s someone who’s trying. Someone who hasn’t given up. Someone still fighting to stay on the right path.

We sold him his regular products, and I gave him a free gummy. I couldn’t not. The man waits hours for us, consistently. He nodded, smiled, thanked me, and quietly walked away. After he left, I felt my eyes well up. My employee and I looked at each other—both of us a little somber, but also relieved. We didn’t need to say anything. We both knew what we had just witnessed: someone doing their best to recover, and us being a small but meaningful part of that journey.

In that moment, it hit me again how much this place matters.

How much people rely on what we do here. How much we actually help. My absence wouldn’t just mean a business closing. It would genuinely hurt people. It would take away something they depend on for relief, stability, and—sometimes—the only bit of comfort they have in a day. That isn’t exaggeration. I’ve seen it too many times, for too many years, in this industry.

This situation has happened over and over again, and every time it reinforces the same truth.

What we’re doing here is good.

When I see our products help someone who’s clearly in need, I feel an overwhelming sense of purpose. Without places like this, real people would suffer. And that’s not something I can ignore or walk away from.

Moments like today give me absolute conviction: this fight matters, this work matters—and quitting is not an option.

For me, this new year begins with my active federal lawsuit challenging Hawaii’s hemp regulations and enforcement practices. The case raises serious constitutional issues, including due process, interstate commerce, and the conflict between state rules and federal hemp protections under the 2018 Farm Bill. This lawsuit is not just about one company. Billions of dollars are on the line across the Hawaii hemp industry, including my own business and every other hemp retailer, distributor, and supplier operating legally in the state.

For years, hemp businesses in Hawaii followed federal guidance, relying on the 2018 Farm Bill and nationally recognized testing standards. Products were openly sold, inspected, taxed, and regulated while state agencies were fully aware of their presence. The sudden regulatory shift has put lawful hemp businesses at risk, creating confusion, financial strain, and the real possibility of closures with little notice or transition.

As we enter the new year, there is cautious optimism. The federal lawsuit is moving forward, and with it comes the possibility of clarity and fairness for the Hawaii hemp market. There has also been discussion around a potential grace period, even though the details remain unknown and nothing has been formally announced. A grace period would give hemp businesses time to adapt and comply rather than being forced into immediate shutdowns. The fact that this is even being discussed shows that the economic and legal impact of these rules cannot be ignored.

This fight goes beyond hemp products or individual companies. It is about whether small businesses in Hawaii can rely on stable regulations, fair notice, and consistent enforcement. It is about whether entrepreneurs who followed federal hemp law will be protected or punished retroactively. These issues affect not just the hemp industry, but the broader business environment in Hawaii.

We are starting the year strong by taking this fight into federal court. This lawsuit represents a stand for due process, lawful commerce, and the future of hemp in Hawaii. The outcome will shape how hemp is regulated in the state and will set an important precedent for how state and federal laws interact moving forward.

As the new year begins, the path forward is clear. Stay compliant. Stay transparent. Stay resilient. This is a make-it-or-break-it year for Hawaii hemp, with millions of dollars, jobs, and livelihoods at stake. We are entering 2026 standing firm and pushing forward, because the future of this industry is worth fighting for.

There’s a difference between living in a regulated society and living in an oppressive one. That difference isn’t about how many rules exist. It’s about whether those rules serve justice—or simply serve power.

That distinction became unusually clear during a recent incident at one of our kiosks. A tourist, visibly intoxicated before even arriving, demanded service without producing identification. When my staff member calmly explained our policy, the man exploded. This wasn’t mild frustration. He accused us of corruption, claimed we were running a scam, and raised his voice until nearby customers backed away. My employee remained professional, but the situation was clearly deteriorating.

I stepped in and reiterated the policy. The tourist responded by threatening legal action and announcing he was calling the police to report our “illegal business practices.”

I told him to go ahead.

Within minutes, an HPD officer arrived. I recognized him—we’d cooperated before when police requested surveillance footage for investigations in the area. He listened patiently to the tourist, then asked to speak with me privately.

What he said stuck with me. “We don’t have any issue with your operation. You’re one of the few places around here that actually checks IDs consistently. We appreciate that. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

He returned to the tourist, explained that businesses have the right—and obligation—to verify age for restricted products, and suggested he take his business elsewhere. The tourist left, still muttering. The officer nodded and went on his way. No report. No spectacle. Just clarity.

That interaction crystallized something I’ve been grappling with as Hawaiʻi’s hemp regulations grow increasingly incoherent. The problem facing this industry—and society more broadly—isn’t that laws exist. It’s that too many of the laws governing hemp commerce aren’t grounded in public safety at all. They’re artifacts of lobbying pressure, political theater, and regulatory capture by established interests threatened by competition.

Society doesn’t unravel because there are rules. It unravels when rules become instruments of suppression rather than frameworks for order—when prohibition replaces regulation, when enforcement targets the compliant and ignores the dangerous, and when responsibility is punished while recklessness goes unchecked.

Good laws come from honest assessments of real harm and careful calibration of responses that reduce risk without creating new problems. Bad laws come from boardrooms and backrooms—places where appearing “tough” matters more than being effective. Hawaiʻi’s approach to hemp regulation falls squarely into the latter category.

If policymakers were genuinely concerned with public safety, regulation would look very different. It would mandate rigorous third-party testing, accurate labeling, batch tracking, recall procedures, and meaningful age-verification standards. It would distinguish responsible operators from bad actors instead of eliminating both. And it would recognize that transparent, legal markets create oversight that prohibition makes impossible.

That’s not what we have. Instead, the Hawaiʻi government ignores federal protections under the 2018 Farm Bill, treats compliant operators as problems to be eliminated, and creates a vacuum where untested, unregulated products circulate freely while legitimate businesses face existential threats. The same tourist who screamed at my employee could walk two blocks and buy something from a street vendor with no ID checks, no testing, and no accountability. But even though we’re compliant, we’re the ones scrutinized.

That isn’t regulation. It’s regulatory theater—designed to create the appearance of action while ensuring legitimate commerce is pushed into spaces with zero oversight and attempting to direct all business into the hands of the corrupt oligopolies that control the market.

The officer’s comment wasn’t courtesy. It was recognition of a deeper truth: real enforcement depends on cooperation from operators who share the goal of public safety. When authorities know a business maintains standards and operates transparently, that business becomes part of the solution. When laws erase that distinction, they destroy their most valuable allies.

I believe wholeheartedly in law and order—not the performative kind, but the kind that creates predictable, fair frameworks people can respect. That requires laws that distinguish between responsibility and recklessness, enforcement that targets real harm, and lawmakers willing to resist lobbying pressure in favor of community welfare.

Hawaiʻi’s hemp laws fail those tests. They aren’t designed to protect consumers; they’re designed to protect incumbent interests. They don’t reduce harm; they displace it. And they don’t create order—they guarantee chaos.

The irony of the tourist incident is that he demanded we be shut down for practices that actually protect him. He wanted order without submitting to the rules that create it. That same delusion sits at the heart of Hawaiʻi’s regulatory approach: the belief that you can destroy legal operators and somehow make communities safer.

The HPD officer understood what too many policymakers miss: businesses that voluntarily maintain standards are infrastructure supporting public welfare, not obstacles to it. Laws written with that understanding strengthen communities. Laws written to eliminate competition do the opposite.

Society needs order—real order, not suppression dressed up as safety. That means laws that serve people, not power, and enforcement that recognizes responsibility when it sees it.

That’s the line between order and chaos. And I know which side I’m standing on.

Lance Alyas

Oahu Dispensary and Provisions