Edwin Rubis: Still Doing 40 for a Plant—And Still Getting Used

If you haven’t read my previous Substack piece “Where Is the Money, Last Prisoner Project?” go read that first. This article is the real-life follow-up.

Because Edwin Rubis isn’t a concept. He’s not a marketing graphic. He’s not a “campaign.” He’s a human being—a Latino man who has spent most of his adult life in federal prison for marijuana.

Let that sit for a second.

Edwin has already served 27 years of a 40-year sentence for cannabis—while millions of Americans legally smoke, shop, invest, and build careers in what’s now a multi-billion-dollar industry. If you want to talk about injustice in America, Edwin’s case isn’t hidden. It’s right in front of us.

But the victimization doesn’t stop with the prison sentence.

Because once the cannabis industry became big money, something else happened: Edwin’s injustice became marketable. And that’s where a whole new layer of exploitation shows up—organizations using cases like Edwin’s as fundraising fuel, while the people doing the time are left with crumbs.

Edwin’s case is “perfect” for marketing—because it’s obviously wrong

From a marketing standpoint, Edwin’s story checks every box:

• Long sentence

• Nonviolent cannabis case

• Sympathetic family

• Decades already served

• A living symbol of “the system didn’t update when the culture did”

And that’s exactly why Last Prisoner Project (LPP) pushed Edwin front and center for years.

Edwin’s story makes people feel something. It makes cannabis customers and executives open their wallets. It gives brands and donors a way to feel like they’re doing good without getting uncomfortable.

But here’s the part people need to understand:

A fundraiser is not the same thing as support.

Edwin went to trial because “the deal” meant cooperation

Edwin’s case gets twisted the way cannabis cases often do.

He wasn’t some kingpin. From everything I’ve seen and been told, Edwin was treated like the centerpiece of a conspiracy when in reality he was a driver in the alleged operation. He went to trial—not because he thought the system would be fair—but because there was no real deal on the table unless he cooperated.

And here’s what should make your stomach turn:

The person presented as the true leader testified against Edwin, received a 20-year sentence, and is now home—while Edwin is still sitting down with years left.

That isn’t “justice.” That’s leverage.

Edwin is a father, a model inmate, and he’s still trying to survive prison the right way

Edwin isn’t out here making excuses. He’s rolling with the punches because that’s what prison trains you to do.

He’s now in a low-security facility, and if nothing changes—no clemency, no court relief—he still has about 8 years left.

And like a lot of long-term federal prisoners, Edwin is focused on staying healthy. He believes one of the best ways to do that is avoiding the chow hall and buying what he can from commissary.

Anyone who’s been inside understands what that means: It’s not a luxury. It’s survival.

The donation machine vs. the real life of the prisoner

Last Prisoner Project built a major public brand around “cannabis prisoner justice.” They’ve shown up at industry events and trade shows, asked people to donate, and presented their work as support for people like Edwin.

They’ve also used Edwin’s image and family in high-visibility moments—bringing Edwin’s son to testify at the Texas state capitol, showing up at major events like SXSW, putting their founder in the spotlight beside Edwin’s son.

And I’m going to say this plainly:

Edwin is in federal prison. Texas state law does not apply to Edwin’s federal sentence.

So when you see all that visibility—travel, photo ops, big stages—ask yourself what it is.

Is it direct relief? Is it policy change that reaches Edwin? Or is it something else?

In my opinion, a lot of it looks like clout dressed up as compassion.

Edwin’s support got cut… then he got removed

This is where my previous article “Where Is the Money, Last Prisoner Project?” becomes more than a title.

Because here’s what happened:

Edwin’s direct support was cut—from around $300 to about $60 every three months.

Edwin asked Last Prisoner Project to bring that support back up.

And instead of stepping up, Edwin was quietly removed from their website.

No announcement. No explanation. Just gone.

And I want you to really think about that:

If a prisoner speaks up and says, “I need real support,” and the response is to erase him… that tells you everything you need to know about how this “support” actually works.

This is my message to the cannabis community

I’m not writing this to start drama. I’m writing this because I’ve lived the system—and I’m not going to watch people build careers and brands off prisoners while the prisoners stay broke and buried.

So here’s what I’m asking:

1. Look into what I’m saying. Don’t take anyone’s word—mine included—without verifying.

2. Demand transparency. If an organization raises millions “for prisoners,” the public deserves to know how much actually reaches prisoners.

3. Support direct. Put money and energy where it touches the person inside—commissary, phone, visits, and real legal work that affects the case.

4. Boycott what feels wrong. If a group can quietly “boycott” a prisoner the moment he asks for fair support, the community can boycott that group too.

Edwin Rubis has already served 27 years for cannabis. He should not have to do eight more while an industry gets rich and a nonprofit economy gets built on his story.

If you care about cannabis justice, don’t just share the posts.

Follow the money. Follow the outcomes. And don’t let prisoners be the product.

Direct Support: Edwin Rubis Fundraiser

If you want to support Edwin directly, here’s the fundraiser link:

#FreeEdwinRubis #LastPrisonerProject #LPP #CannabisClemency #CannabisJustice #FreeTheGuys #EndTheDrugWar #PrisonReform #JusticeReform #FollowTheMoney