At the Intersection of Glass and ICE
By Beeta Golshani
On July 10, federal agents raided Glass House Farms, detaining hundreds of workers in a sweeping operation that left fear and chaos in its wake. People who had spent their lives tending plants, working long hours for low wages, and trying to build a living suddenly found themselves cuffed, processed, and facing deportation. One man, Jaime Alanís Garcia, fell from a greenhouse roof and died, a tragic reminder that the stakes in this industry are life and death. For those of us who work in cannabis, it was a shocking, gut-wrenching moment. We have been called essential, we have been told we are part of a booming, legal industry, yet the system treats us as disposable the moment it suits the powers that be.
Kyle Kazan is at the top of this company, and he has a history that shapes exactly how he runs it. He was a cop in the 90s, arresting people on drug charges while cannabis was illegal and the war on drugs remained rampant. He then moved into real estate, buying up cheap houses and flipping them for profit. By 2016, he shifted into cannabis, pulling his investments together and creating Glass House Brands, the parent company of Glass House Farms. The company operates over 500,000 square feet of greenhouse cultivation and 9,600 acres of hemp, with a market value of about $560 million. Yet when ICE shows up, he does nothing to protect the workers who make those profits possible.
We live in a time when dispensaries look like upscale boutiques with glass counters and polished wood. But the people making those products live in a different world. The shine of the storefront hides reality. Every jar on the shelf comes from people pulling long shifts for low pay, with little safety and almost no backup. Customers see carefully curated products, but rarely the hands that trimmed, packaged, and cared for those plants under harsh conditions and constant precarity. This gap between polished image and harsh reality is no accident. It is built into an industry where profits and appearances matter far more than the people who actually keep it running.
Reports indicate that many of the workers detained in the raid were not even hired directly, they came through labor contractors. This type of labor setup often creates layers of separation between workers and employers, often making it harder for employees to access protections or hold anyone accountable when things go wrong. It allows companies to avoid paying fairly or taking responsibility for unsafe conditions. So when ICE shows up, the workers are exposed and vulnerable while executives and owners step back and claim distance from the fallout.
Undocumented workers, and those still laboring in the non-legal side of cannabis, carry even more risk. They are the easiest to target, the hardest to defend, and the least likely to see protections reach them. The Supreme Court has made that danger even sharper. On September 8, in a 6 to 3 decision, the Court cleared the way for ICE to resume street sweeps in Los Angeles, raids that can hinge on how someone looks, what language they speak, or the kind of job they hold. Civil rights groups have warned it will fuel racial profiling on a massive scale. For cannabis workers without papers, stepping into a greenhouse can feel like stepping into a trap. The plant may be legal in California, but their lives remain criminalized, disposable, and exposed.
State legalization policies have largely prioritized licensing, tax revenue, and corporate growth over real labor protections. The focus on building an industry meant for investors and entrepreneurs leaves workers who build it out in the cold, vulnerable to exploitation and abuse. While businesses get tax breaks and branding opportunities, the people actually planting, trimming, and packaging cannabis struggle with low wages, unsafe conditions, and no real way to fight back. Without strong labor laws tailored to this industry, the gap between profits and protections will only widen.
Adding to the problem, just days before the raid, on July 1, California hiked up cannabis taxes. That money did not go toward worker protections or safer conditions, the money flows to regulators and investors. The people doing the hard labor see none of it. The industry’s growth is being built on the backs of workers who are increasingly treated as expendable.
Cannabis has always been political. Every part of this industry exists in the midst of overlapping systems of law, power, and money. It is legal at the state level, criminal at the federal level, and that contradiction is a goldmine for those who know how to play both sides. Former cops like Kazan are perfectly positioned to do just that. They understand the machinery of enforcement because they were part of it. Now they use that knowledge to build businesses that benefit from the same inequalities enforcement creates.
Legalization did not dismantle old power structures, it just rearranged them. Politicians love to cut ribbons and brag about cannabis tax revenue. They call it progress, but that money still comes from a labor system where workers, especially immigrants, have fewer rights, less protections, and more to lose. It comes from CEOs who cash in on legalization while relying on the same state violence that fueled prohibition. When raids like this happen, they keep quiet because the system is working for them.
The people who have lobbied hardest for cannabis legalization did not do it out of genuine concern for workers or communities harmed by the war on drugs. Too often, their intentions are tied to profit, market control, or political gain. They pushed for legalization to open doors for investors and corporate players, not to build a fair, just industry that protects the people who do the hardest work. This has left the door wide open for exploitation and inequality to thrive under the guise of progress.
Cannabis is still a political prop. Governors use it to look progressive. Lawmakers use it to make promises about equity and repair. But those policies rarely make it to the greenhouse floor. Social equity programs are built to help owners, not the thousands of people actually tending the plants. Labor protections get stripped down because large companies want to keep costs low. Immigration reform stalls because keeping workers undocumented makes them cheap, easy to silence, and afraid to organize.
The raid at Glass House Farms was more than just immigration enforcement. It was about showing power, who has it, who benefits from it, and who is left exposed when those in power decide to act. It was about the collision of state and federal law and how that collision is weaponized against the most vulnerable people in this industry. It was about how legalization has been shaped not for workers or communities, but for people who already had money, connections, or, in Kazan’s case, a career in the very system that once locked people up for the same plant.
The future of cannabis will not be decided by glossy storefronts or rising tax numbers. It will be decided by whether the people who grow and harvest are treated with dignity, given protections, and defended when the state targets them. If you are a cannabis executive, lobbyist, or CEO who once wore a uniform and you will not stand up for your workers, then you never stopped policing. You just found a more profitable beat. This industry’s future depends on protections for the people on the ground. Not the storefronts. Not the profits. Right now, too many in power are fine with letting workers take the fall. That is not equity. That is not progress. That is prohibition with a new face.
