Veterans Caught in the Crossfire: Cannabis Companies Lure with Free Offers on Social Media

There’s something especially ironic about a veteran dealing with a severe addiction to THC, anxiously messaging a company that, in theory, should be helping him heal. The words tumble out at four in the morning—“I feel like I am having a mental health crisis and breakdown”—and one can’t help but wonder how many other veterans are woven into this tapestry of bureaucracy and dubious marketing.

Let’s talk about VeteranCann, shall we? A company that seems to have mastered the art of "free" medicinal cannabis through catchy social media ads that would make even the most seasoned advertising executive nod in approval. Who wouldn't be swayed by the promise of “natural therapies”? Too bad that this so-called natural remedy was swooping in like a hawk to capture prey that is already vulnerable. Take Bill, for instance. He’s a 35-year-old navy veteran who found himself deep in this rabbit hole after a Facebook advertisement offered him a delightful invitation into an expensive world of medicinal goodies. $1,700 worth of THC-laden cannabis products in under a month—thanks, Department of Veterans Affairs!

Now, there’s a delightful twist: Bill’s addiction wasn’t exactly a secret. It was well-documented, and yet, here comes VeteranCann, throwing caution to the wind as they send him more shipments despite his cries for help. "What is wrong with this system?" Bill implores, as if expecting a Kafkaesque answer delivered by the universe. Meanwhile, the Australian government threw down a whopping $35.99 million for medicinal cannabis in just one fiscal year, and apparently, a significant chunk of that budget is being allocated to facilitating a veteran's descent into borderline psychosis. Isn't that a headline waiting to be printed?

The situation becomes even more layered when you hear from Sandra, another veteran who thought she might find solace in medicinal cannabis for her chronic pain. A quick 20-minute consultation and voilà! She was fast-tracked into the world of THC, prescribed by a doctor she never even spoke to. Talk about a clinical game of telephone! One can only imagine what the waiting room must feel like if the consultation lasts shorter than the time it takes to brew a cup of coffee.

Dr. Kerry Summerscales, Sandra’s GP and fellow veteran, couldn’t believe her eyes. On seeing the products her patients received, she expressed pure horror. It’s like handing out fentanyl patches like party favors without even attempting to consider simpler options like Panadol first. This spirals into the realm of “telehealth clinics” that flood the landscape, peddling single-issue solutions like eager street vendors. “What are we doing?” she asks. The stakes are high, and no one seems to be keeping track of the growing list of patients vulnerable to mental and physical health challenges.

Those late-night texts asking if you’d like another round of “free for veterans” cannabis? The definition of badgering, particularly when you realize they come not only after regular business hours but also when people are least equipped to make rational decisions—because who doesn’t crave a little THC at 9 PM, right?

Meanwhile, the powers that be, namely the Therapeutic Goods Administration (TGA), have guidelines banning the advertisement of prescription medications, including medicinal cannabis. Yet, the advertising nevertheless proliferates, challenging both ethical practices and common sense. As for VeteranCann, they’ve resorted to apologizing for their approach—well, better late than never, I suppose. But whether or not that impacts the veterans already caught in this swirl of dubious marketing will keep many awake at night.

And what of the company’s associates? They’re practically a cast of characters torn straight from a drama series, layering on the intrigue. One might wonder if the founder of VeteranCann is also secretly working on the next gripping miniseries that shines a light on these exploitative practices, featuring social media posts filled with misogyny and violence just to add flavor. All this comes with a twist—the name of a consultant who finds himself a tad too controversial, despite past associations with some unsavory content.

As Bill continues to plead for help, navigating a system that feels all too willing to drown him in a tide of cannabis shipments, it begs the question: when will someone step in and advocate for veterans like him? It’s a delicate balancing act—between what is medically advisable and what feels more akin to exploitation. “I need help,” Bill cries out; let’s hope someone finally hears him.