Several people have asked me the story of the Drug War ad. I suggest you start by reading the ad, otherwise this explanation won't make much sense.

I abandoned my original campaign of civil disobedience in 1997, but the drug war continued to trouble me deeply. I was gravely concerned about its ramifications for the United States, especially its potential to become another Holocaust, and by the spring of 2000 was once again determined to act. A good friend of mine noted how prolific were the writings of so many historical figures, and recommended that I write down my ideas. I fashioned a long essay, taking its title from a conversation with another friend, who pointed out how Bill Clinton's successful 1992 presidential campaign centered around a single, simple idea, captured by James Carville's slogan: "It's the economy, stupid." Having abandoned the use of civil disobedience, I instead focused on the media, with the goal of creating the drug war as a campaign issue in the 2000 election. I assembled a long draft.

While on a trip to Germany, I visited a good friend of mine and his girlfriend, who grew up in East Germany and was twelve years old when The Wall came down. During an evening walk in Dresden, the conversation turned to capitalism and communism, the end result being, oddly enough, her declaration that "sometimes you have to take a chance". The next day, with that thought in mind, I edited the essay down to fit a full page ad, called a restaurant long-distance, made a reservation for a meeting on April 24th, and emailed the ad to the Washington City Paper. I ponied up $1500 via credit card to the newspaper, and made a verbal commitment for $100 to the restaurant. Concerned about giving any false impressions, I included a statement that the views in the article didn't reflect the management of the Washington City Paper. I never gave a thought to the restaurant.

Upon my return to the U.S, I began to wonder what reaction this would provoke. I didn't have long to wait. On April 14, 2000, the City Paper published the ad on page 5. The location came as a shock; I had expected the ad to be buried somewhere around page 49. I had told the restaurant that I was publishing an ad to promote the meeting, but the banquet coordinator hadn't asked to see the ad, and I hadn't volunteered. Upon seeing the ad, she showed it to her general manager, whom I now spoke with for the first time. To say he refused to hold the meeting is putting it mildly. He demanded that a retraction be printed, threatened legal action, declared that he'd have the police ready to run off anyone showing up for the meeting, and informed me that I'd be paying for the police.

Reaction also started coming in from another front. I had included my email address in the article, and within a day of the article's publication, I began to receive responses. One email informed me that NORML, the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws, was having a meeting at the same date, at the same time, as my meeting. The writer apologized for not being able to make my meeting, but I saw a golden solution to my dilemma. I'd simply move the meeting to coincide with NORML's.

If I wanted to publish a change notice, I had to get it into the next issue of the City Paper, and that meant a press deadline of Tuesday, April 18. At first I didn't anticipate any problem, but then I hadn't anticipated any problems earlier, either. The NORML meeting was scheduled to be held at the Velvet Lounge, a small club in D.C, and I prepared an ad announcing that the meeting had been moved. I was unable to contact the Velvet Lounge's owner, though, even though I had left several messages at the club. He finally called me on Tuesday afternoon. He told me that while NORML was welcome to meet at the Velvet Lounge, he didn't want the meeting publicized in the City Paper, citing fear of persecution by the D.C. Liquor Board as his reason.

My backup location had fallen through, and it was two hours until my press deadline. Plus, I was suffering from a cold as well some software problems preventing me from creating the exact advertisement I wanted. Worn down and depressed, I changed the ad to an announcement that the meeting had been canceled, and sent the new ad to the City Paper.

The next week, I was at the Velvet Lounge for the "canceled" meeting. About two dozen people attended. I met Keith Stroup, the founder of NORML, Tom, an articulate and outspoken lawyer, and Miriam White, NORML's "Chief Moral Officer". The main focus of the meeting was preparation for an upcoming Medical Marijuana March, an event that ended up getting largely overshadowed by a Gay Pride March on the same weekend.

Personally, the biggest thing I got out of the meeting was the realization that I did have a meeting location - at NORML's headquarters on Connecticut Avenue. I'd visited their offices before, and knew they didn't have the space to accommodate me, but Miriam pointed out that NORML was right across the street from Farragut Park, and any sizable group could simply be lead across the street, weather permitting. So, I was now in a position where I could spend the last of my money, publish a third ad, and conduct a meeting in the park. Instead, I dropped the ball. Why?

Because, basically, in the two weeks since publishing the article, I had continued to have deep qualms about it, centering not so much on the issue of drugs, but on the political nature of the beast. Whenever I considered the question of success, whenever I asked myself where I'd end up if the whole thing succeeded, in short, whenever I envisioned a political career for myself, I didn't like what I saw.

I saw myself making a lot of compromises to obtain and then hold political power. To effect any real change in the government's policy seemed to require not a local, but a national campaign. A national campaign meant a national party, either new or existing, and a slate of candidates I would then be obliged to support. Anything but token success would then imply a share of government power, either explicit or implicit, and required the answers to hard questions. Would I be willing to take responsibility for fundamental shifts in government policy, such as ending the drug war? Would I be willing to enact laws, support them, and enforce them with police power, if necessary? Would I be willing to lead the country to war if our "national interests" were somehow threatened?

Ultimately, all of these questions led back to fundamental philosophical issues, which for me occupied the realm of religion, carefully edited out of my "April manifesto". My religion is important to me. I may not always understand Christianity, but it forms the basis of my philosophical system, and in all my deep questions I ultimately refer back to it. Certainly, if there was ever a time that called for political liberation, it was 2000 years ago when Israel suffered under Roman rule, enduring an empire based on slavery, pagan worship, and institutionalized prostitution. Yet Jesus didn't lead protest marches on Rome, didn't organize sit-ins at the governor's palace, in fact hardly issued a peep against the government, reserving his harshest criticism instead for the religious leaders of the Jews. And he didn't ignore the government because he was unable to act against it; a man who could walk on water, raise the dead, and command the weather would make a formidable foe. There was some kind of discrepancy here, and it nagged at me to resolve it before pressing forward.

So, instead of publishing a third article, rescheduling the meeting, I instead used the last of my money to travel to Arkansas and visit some friends I hadn't seen in four years. Yet the condition of the country, and the injustices of society, continued to cry out to me. How to resolve these issues? Upon returning home, I took a trip to the West Virginia, and resolved to spend three days and nights on a mountain top, taking a backpack, water, and a tent, but no food, no radio, and only a Bible to read.

I can only describe those three days as a spiritual ordeal. For starters, if you want to appreciate just how long a day really is, and how much time we each waste, try siting under a tree for 24 hours. Don't bring any distractions; no music, no computer, certainly no drugs or alcohol - a joint's a great way to make about three hours disappear. You may bring some water or a few books if you wish, but once you're there, don't leave that spot for an entire day and night. I did it for three days, and left wondering how little we achieve in our lives, when each hour seemed for me an eternity.

I had gone to the mountain to pray, because it seemed to me that's what Jesus did in the crises of his life. After his baptism, he spent forty days alone in the wilderness. His transfiguration occured on a mountain top, and before his arrest he spent the night in prayer. The closest I came to touching God was on the morning of the second day, when I snoozed in my sleeping bag, in the tent. It had rained the day before, many of my clothes were wet, and I knew I had to dry them out, as well as collect some rain water from the tarp, since my water supply was running low. In a half-waking dream, I got up out of my sleeping bag, but in fact remained cuddled up in it. It was then I heard a gentle voice in my head, saying, "Come on, Brent, come on." With that motivation, I got up, collected a liter of water from the tarp, and spread my wet clothes on the rocks to dry.

There, on the mountain top, I read the inner Gospels of Mark and Luke, which I had never tackled straight through, having only read Matthew and John from beginning to end. Both books seemed largely a repeat of Matthew, yet each had a few sections unique only to it. The greatest impact of those three days came in the realization of how much time we're given each day, and the motivation of the second morning. I often slept until noon, but upon returning from my trip, I start getting up early, rather than letting the day waste away.

I decided to resurrect my anti-Drug War crusade, but I knew that it had to be a spiritual, not a political, campaign. I've reached the conclusion that anyone who seeks either worldly wealth or worldly power is either naive or corrupt, and those who are naive will either become corrupt, or lose their wealth and power. I am no longer willing to consider comprising my religion for the sake of political power. Jesus instructs us to love our enemies, and blockading a street or Metro station isn't an act of love. Jesus leads us to walk to our deaths before raising a hand against another, so I will not make war for any national interest. Nor will I issue laws or judge those who disobey them, because we are told to judge not, that we not be judged. To maintain this commitment, I refuse to put myself into a position where my loyalty will be divided between religion and government, just as Jesus walked off to the mountain when the people would have made him king. I will not be a king, a president, a judge, or a legislator, because I perceive these roles as incompatible with a religion that teaches absolute peace, absolute tolerance, and absolute forgiveness.

Christianity does not imply silence. The beginning of John identifies Jesus as "the Word", and this term is significant. The Word - the spoken word, the printed word, the televised word - represents the power to teach, to persuade, to lead, to apologize, to forgive, to heal. When every means of coercion is stripped away, the Word is the only weapon that remains in the arsenal of a Christian.

My new campaign isn't so much against the government, but against the voices which support this war, as well as greed, violence, and moral decadence. Nobody wants a war in this country. Even those who say they do, do not. Nobody wants a society based on "zero tolerance". Nobody wants a society based on greed. Nobody wants a society where freedom means that everyone does primarily for himself, and "gets tough" when threatened. Toleration, compassion, reverence, generosity - these are the principles we want our society founded upon. These are the principles we want taught to our children. These are the principles we want reflected by our leaders.

It's time to speak.