There are moments in cannabis history that get framed as progress because they feel better than what came before. They look like movement, sound like reform, and arrive wrapped in headlines that suggest the long fight is finally paying off. But sometimes, when you slow down long enough to really look at what changed—and what didn’t—you realize you weren’t handed freedom. You were handed a slightly longer leash.
The federal decision to move marijuana from Schedule I to Schedule III is one of those moments.
On paper, it’s progress. Acknowledging that cannabis has medical value is something advocates, patients, and operators have been saying for decades. For many businesses, the potential relief from 280E taxation alone feels like oxygen after years of financial suffocation. Research barriers begin to ease. The conversation shifts, at least rhetorically, from outright denial to cautious acceptance.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth that gets buried under celebration: this was not the best option available. It wasn’t even the bold option. It was the safest one.
Full descheduling was on the table. The MORE Act wasn’t theoretical, symbolic, or fringe. It was introduced, debated, passed in the House, and left to die quietly while the industry was told to clap for rescheduling instead. And that reality should sit heavy with anyone who cares about cannabis beyond balance sheets and press releases.
Because when you strip away the spin, what we’re left with is this: we didn’t take the opportunity to end federal cannabis prohibition when it was available. We settled.
What Rescheduling Actually Means When You Look Past the Headlines
Moving marijuana from Schedule I to Schedule III is often described as a historic shift, and in a narrow legal sense, it is. Schedule I claimed cannabis had no accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse, a position so disconnected from lived reality that it bordered on farce.
Schedule III acknowledges medical value, and that matters—especially for patients who have been gaslit by federal policy for generations.
But rescheduling does not remove cannabis from the Controlled Substances Act. It does not end federal oversight. It does not fully reconcile the contradiction between state-legal markets and federal authority. Cannabis remains controlled, regulated, and subject to federal interpretation. The cage didn’t disappear. It was remodeled.
For operators, the biggest immediate impact is the potential end of 280E, which has punished legal cannabis businesses by denying standard deductions that every other industry takes for granted.
That relief is real, and for many companies operating on razor-thin margins, it may be the difference between survival and collapse. But tax relief alone is not justice, and it is certainly not liberation.
Rescheduling changes how cannabis is managed within the system. Descheduling would have questioned whether the system had the right to manage it at all.
The Road Not Taken — The MORE Act and What It Represented
The Marijuana Opportunity Reinvestment and Expungement Act offered something fundamentally different. It proposed removing cannabis entirely from the Controlled Substances Act, ending federal prohibition outright and returning authority to states without the looming threat of federal intervention.
That distinction matters more than most people are willing to admit.
Descheduling would have meant that cannabis was no longer treated as a federally controlled substance, opening the door to true normalization rather than conditional acceptance. It would have addressed criminalization at its root, creating pathways for expungement and reinvestment in communities that bore the brunt of prohibition. It would have signaled, unequivocally, that the federal government was done pretending it knew better than decades of culture, medicine, and lived experience.
And it wasn’t a fantasy. The MORE Act passed the House. It had momentum. had public support, and it had legitimacy.
What it didn’t have was political courage in the final stretch.
Why Rescheduling Was the Path of Least Resistance
Rescheduling offered lawmakers a way to appear progressive without dismantling existing power structures. IIt allowed federal agencies to maintain relevance. Institutional interests were reassured that cannabis would be absorbed into familiar regulatory frameworks rather than something unpredictable. Politicians gained a win they could highlight without taking responsibility for the full harm of prohibition.
Descheduling would have required something more difficult. It would have required admitting that the war on cannabis failed, would have required relinquishing federal control and acknowledging that communities, patients, and states were better equipped to lead. It would have required repair, not just reform.
That’s a harder story to tell during an election cycle. So instead, the narrative became one of incremental progress, even though the increment chosen conveniently avoided the most meaningful change.
The Industry’s Quiet Acceptance
This is where the story gets uncomfortable, because the industry isn’t blameless.
After years of being squeezed by taxes, banking restrictions, and regulatory whiplash, many operators were desperate for any relief. When rescheduling began to look inevitable, too many voices softened. Advocacy shifted toward pragmatism. Long-term goals were quietly shelved in favor of short-term survival.
That response is human. Fatigue is real. But it doesn’t change the outcome.
By accepting rescheduling as “good enough,” the industry helped normalize the idea that partial freedom was the best we could hope for. The urgency around descheduling faded. The conversation narrowed. And an opportunity that may not come again for years slipped through our fingers.
Who Actually Wins Under Schedule III
There will be winners under Schedule III, and it’s important to be honest about who they are.
Well-capitalized multi-state operators stand to benefit significantly, particularly those already positioned to navigate complex compliance frameworks. Pharmaceutical interests gain clearer research and development pathways. Federal agencies retain authority and oversight.
Smaller operators may see tax relief, but they remain exposed to consolidation pressure, inconsistent state regulations, and a system that still favors scale over community. Legacy operators—many of whom carried this culture through the darkest years—remain marginalized, their contributions acknowledged in words but rarely in policy.
And the communities most harmed by prohibition are still waiting for repair that goes beyond rhetoric.
Cannabis Culture Was Never Built for This
Cannabis has always thrived outside formal systems, not because it was reckless, but because it was resilient. Long before legalization, this plant existed in kitchens, gardens, garages, and underground networks built on trust, necessity, and care. That culture didn’t wait for permission, and it certainly wasn’t shaped by federal agencies.
Rescheduling pulls cannabis further into institutional control without fully reconciling that history. It reframes the plant as something to be managed rather than something to be understood.
Descheduling would have acknowledged that cannabis didn’t need saving—it needed the government to step out of the way.
What This Means Going Forward
Rescheduling is not the end of the story, but it does shape what comes next. It sets the stage for increased pharmaceutical influence, deeper federal oversight, and continued fragmentation between state markets. It risks entrenching a system where access, ownership, and opportunity remain uneven.
The real danger now is complacency. If Schedule III is treated as the finish line instead of what it actually is—a compromise—momentum for deeper reform will stall. And once momentum stalls, history shows how long it can take to get it back.
Naming the Missed Opportunity Matters
Critiquing rescheduling does not mean denying progress. It means refusing to confuse movement with justice.
Acknowledging the relief this brings doesn’t mean we ignore what was lost. We can support operators while still demanding better systems. It’s possible to hold space for nuance without surrendering the overall vision.
Because marijuana descheduling wasn’t radical. It was responsible. And choosing not to pursue it when the chance existed is something this industry, and this country, will have to own.
If this piece made you uncomfortable, that’s not a flaw—it’s the point. Cannabis doesn’t need safer conversations right now. It needs honest ones.
At Beard Bros Pharms and Beard Bros Media, we’re here to document the moments that matter, especially when the industry would rather move on quietly. We believe progress should be measured by who is freed, not just who benefits.
If you’re an operator, advocate, policymaker, or cultural participant who knows we can still do better, join the conversation. Share this piece. Push back. Build forward.
The door to marijuana descheduling didn’t close because it was locked. It closed because not enough people kept pushing it open.
