Pubdate: Sun, 05 Apr 2009 Source: Calgary Herald (CN AB) Copyright: 2009 Canwest Publishing Inc. Contact: http://www.canada.com/calgaryherald/letters.html Website: http://www.canada.com/calgaryherald/ Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/66 Author: Robert Remington Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/grant.htm (Krieger, Grant) EX-POT CRUSADER TIRED, RESIGNED 'Flawed' System Leaves Krieger Hermit With Dogs As expected of someone who indulges in the medicinal use of marijuana, Grant Krieger is a gentle soul. His dogs, not so much. Upon arrival at Krieger's house, visitors are greeted by a pack of six barking hounds. One, a half-wolf named Shifty, stays in the background, swaying back and forth. Before long, the dogs settle. They surround the visitor, seeking pats on the head, shakes of outstretched paws and an irresistible scratch behind the ear. All, that is, but the wary Shifty, who dares to enter the room only after nearly an hour and remains aloof. The home has a lived-in, bachelor look: the TV is on, there's an ironing board in the living room, DVDs are lined up on the floor, tattered throws cover furniture in a futile effort to protect them against fur. On the kitchen table is the beginning of a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a snow leopard. A treadmill sits in the middle of another room, where a rowing machine is propped against a wall. Krieger offers herbal tea. We sit in the room with the TV blaring and begin to talk of his 13-year legal struggle as a medicinal marijuana advocate, which the multiple sclerosis sufferer ended this week by signing a legal document pledging to not engage in any cultivation or distribution. The windows are covered to block natural light, the entrance-way dark. The room has the mood and feel of a comfortable cave. "I've become a hermit," says the gaunt 54-year-old. "I don't even like to leave the house anymore be-cause I don't like police officers." Krieger's crusade has cost him a marriage, the estrangement of family, his driving privileges and debt. It is the sad and tragic story of an individual fighting a system stacked against him, a system that never tolerated his in-your-face defiance of what he felt were unjust laws. One could argue that he became his own worst enemy. If Krieger had simply stuck quietly to his personal use of medicinal marijuana, as he was legally allowed to do, he might have escaped the torment of enforcement officials and a judiciary that treated him like a pusher. Instead, Krieger listened to the call of his kind heart. His sin, in the minds of the authorities, was running a compassion club to assist other sick people by supplying them with pot--not to smoke, but to make into a mild cannabis butter to be ingested, and without using what he calls the toxic, low-grade government skunkweed grown for medicinal use in an abandoned Manitoba mine. He was twice convicted and twice acquitted for trafficking. One acquittal was ordered by no less than the Supreme Court of Canada, which ruled in 2006 that an Alberta judge erred in telling a jury it had no choice but to find Krieger guilty. That astonishing Alberta conviction was overturned 7-0 by the higher court. In 2007, Krieger was again convicted of trafficking and sentenced to four months. The judge ruled that Krieger should be provided medicinal marijuana while in jail, but Corrections Canada refused to allow it, resulting in Krieger's agreement this week to disavow any further cultivation or distribution in exchange for 18 months probation. "It's Alberta. What more can I say?" he says, not bitterly, but with a note of exasperation. Multiple sclerosis first took hold of Krieger when he was 24. He was working as a food sales representative when his vision became blurred, an early indicator of MS. As the condition progressed, his body began pulsing with what MS sufferers describe as electrical jolts that occur when the body's own immune system attacks and damages the insulating myelin sheath that protects nerve fibres. His hands became so stiff he used a rubber stamp for his signature. "My kids loved me," he says, referring to his three children's ability to sneak the stamp out of a drawer and ink dad's signature on their report cards. In 1996, Krieger went to the European pot mecca of Amsterdam and got a doctor's prescription to use marijuana to ease his affliction. He openly attempted to bring some pot back to Canada from Amsterdam in an effort to test Canada's medicinal marijuana laws. He was arrested by military police in the Netherlands and put on the plane without his pot, sparing him a potential life sentence under Canadian law for importing drugs. When he landed at Pearson Airport in Toronto, he was in a wheelchair and wincing in pain. Soon, police in Saskatchewan, where he lived at the time, were raiding his home. His wife, Marie, was charged with possession. His daughter, a law student, moved out, fearing she, too, could get charged. When Canadian Olympic snowboarder Ross Rebagliati was awarded a gold medal in 1998 despite his pot use, Krieger was miffed at the double standard. "They're busting up families-- but Ross got his medal," he said. Thus began Krieger's unrelenting challenge of Canada's intransigent attitude to medical marijuana--not changed until 2001--which he credited with alleviating his need for a wheelchair or even crutches. He moved to Calgary and began passing out pot on the doorstep of the courthouse, resulting in his first trafficking charge. Given a constitutional exemption to possess marijuana for personal use for one year, Krieger was driven to help others. He set up the Universal Compassion Club, which attracted the attention of police, and thieves. In 1999, someone broke into his Calgary house and stole his entire stash. Shortly thereafter, Krieger was arrested and charged with breach of probation for possessing a half-smoked joint. On and on it went, with arrests, probation, re-arrests, trials and appeals that went to the highest court in the land. His auto insurance was revoked out of concern his medicinal marijuana use would result in him driving under the influence. "They've taken everything away from me. It's cost me everything, these drugs laws, which are against our charter of rights. Financially, it's cost me tons. I'm in hock up to my eyeballs. It cost me a whole pile of friends. The people who came to help me, in reality, they helped themselves. It's cost me family." Marie, with whom he had writ-ten a book, Cooking for Life: Recipes with Cannabis Butter, could take it no more and left. "I never talked to her for three years, but we've just started talking in the last couple of years," says Krieger. "I never talked to my daughter for three years." Unable to rent a house due to his notoriety, he has been taken in by two of his children and rotates between their residences on the stipulation that he not grow any pot, which would negate their insurance. "The kids don't want any more harassment from police. They've had enough. And to tell you the truth, I've had enough. I used to trust in the system, but not anymore. They're all flawed, down to the insurance companies, down to the doctors, the politicians, even the judicial system is flawed." He's turned to the black market, recently paying $800 for an ounce. For Grant Krieger, the system he fought for so long has won. He spends his days inside doing jigsaw puzzles and trying to lead a quiet life. He shuffles, but without the aid of medical devices. With his arrests, his chances of travelling to the United States are zero. He'll never feel the warmth of the Arizona sun on his aching body. "I listen to music, put DVDs in. I do my jigsaw puzzles,"he says. "And I pick up dog s--t. Lots of dog s--t." - --- MAP posted-by: Larry Seguin