I arrived in Tokyo in November for the Japanese International Hemp Expo (JIHE) 2025 with a familiar mix of jet lag, curiosity, and professional reflex. After decades working at the intersection of cannabis, law, and global markets, I’ve learned that the plant reveals more about a society than almost anything else. Where it’s embraced, feared, regulated, or whispered about tells you volumes about culture, history, and power.
Japan tells that story quietly, but unmistakably.
I was in Toronto just a few days earlier, where cannabis had been a focused topic at the International Bar Association (IBA) Annual Conference. In Canada, the discussion around cannabis is mainstream and where lawyers, regulators, and business leaders debate policy, compliance, and international markets with the same seriousness they do banking or intellectual property. Cannabis content that touched on cross-border trade, medical access, and compliance frameworks drew interested audiences, and there was no stigma in asking hard questions about the future of cannabis in global law.
It was striking to see how normalized the conversation had become in Canada over the past several years. But also, how this topic has become embraced by the international legal community which, not too many years ago, refused to discuss the topic due to the conservative nature of the legal profession, in general.
Stepping off the plane in Tokyo, the contrast was immediate. In Canada, cannabis is part of public discourse, policy development, and even social culture. In Japan, even the word is whispered. Enforcement is strict, social tolerance is low, and every interaction is filtered through layers of caution. The contrast was not just legal, but also cultural. Having just come from Toronto’s conference halls, I could see how Japan’s approach reflects a different philosophy entirely: patient, deliberate, and deeply conscious of social cohesion. Where Canada’s approach has been expansive and fast-moving, Japan’s feels like the measured heat of an onsen, with careful preparation, slow absorption, and respect for the process.
Tokyo is not just a city; it’s a living system. More than 30 million people move through it daily with a level of coordination that feels almost choreographed—have you seen the Shibuya Crossing, often referred to as the “Shibuya scramble”? The Shinjuku Ward is widely recognized as one of the most intensely dense and bustling urban places on Earth. Trains arrive on the second. Streets are largely immaculate, and there are rarely trash cans anywhere to be found in public! Courtesy is ambient. You are constantly aware that you are being observed, but not in a hostile way, but in a communal one. Behavior matters here.
That awareness becomes especially pronounced if you come from a cannabis culture, like the United States.
Cannabis in a Culture of Restraint
Despite Japan being one of the world’s largest consumers of tobacco, you rarely see anyone smoking in public. Smoking on the street is prohibited or discouraged in many areas. Instead, smokers retreat into sealed, ventilated rooms—often without windows—where the act is hidden away, compartmentalized, and controlled. Those rooms are actually perfect for catching a ‘puff,’ but that is another story for another day.
Cannabis exists even further outside of public life. No one smokes openly. No one jokes about it casually. No dispensaries. No smell. No visible cannabis counterculture. Now, there were several exceptions to this rule; these were so-called CBD dispensaries, such as “Chillaxy,” which primarily sold converted cannabinoids and hemp derivatives. But marijuana was an elusive concept in Tokyo. Cannabis in Japan is not merely illegal; it is stigmatized. It is treated not like alcohol or tobacco, but like a hard drug; something dangerous, shameful, and career-ending. Possession arrests still make national news.
This cultural backdrop shaped everything about JIHE 2025. The Japanese International Hemp Expo was carefully, deliberately focused on hemp. Industrial hemp. Wellness hemp. Historical hemp. Hemp textiles. Medicinal research pathways. This was not a loophole, but a strategy.
The exhibition floor featured CBD products formulated to comply with Japan’s zero-THC expectations, innovative vape technologies designed for legal cannabinoids, hemp textiles and clothing, building materials, cosmetics, and nutraceuticals. Every booth felt precise, intentional, and well thought out.
What struck me wasn’t what was missing, but how much was present, given the constraints.
Japan has a long and underappreciated hemp history, and JIHE leaned into that truth with quiet confidence. Hemp, which is known as ‘asa,’ has been cultivated in Japan for thousands of years, woven into everyday life, spiritual practice, and national identity. Shinto priests still use hemp fibers in purification rituals; sacred ropes (‘shimenawa’) hung at shrines are traditionally made from hemp, symbolizing cleanliness, protection, and the boundary between the human and the divine. For centuries, hemp clothing was common, durable, and practical—especially in rural communities—valued not for intoxication, but for utility, resilience, and spiritual neutrality. In this context, hemp was never countercultural. It was foundational.
What many forget—particularly outside Japan—is that cannabis prohibition here is not ancient or organic; it is relatively modern. Japan’s restrictive cannabis laws largely took shape after World War II, influenced by U.S.-led occupation policies that collapsed distinctions between hemp and psychoactive cannabis into a single prohibited category. In doing so, a plant with deep agricultural and religious roots was recast as a social threat. JIHE, in many ways, felt like a careful act of historical restoration. This was not an attempt to provoke reform, but an effort to remind Japan of what it already knows. Hemp, framed correctly, is not a foreign idea returning home; it is a native one waiting to be remembered.
In that sense, Japan’s relationship with hemp feels less like a revolution and more like a refrain—I’ve been all around this world—and sometimes the future sounds most familiar when it echoes the past. The expo felt like a place where that memory was being carefully reawakened.
Reform Without Provocation
The JIHE speaker lineup reflected the maturity of the conversation. These were not provocateurs. They were translators between cultures, legal systems, and futures.
Aaron Justus delivered a measured, regulatory-forward discussion of cannabinoids and compliance, speaking directly to the Japanese instinct for rules and structure. His message was clear: legitimacy comes from precision.
Sergyei Kovalenkov explored the industrial uses of hemp and building materials.
Morris Beegle brought cultural context and sustainability into the conversation, reminding attendees that hemp has always been about more than products, but about systems, communities, and long-term stewardship.
Paul Benhaim, one of the original architects of the modern hemp industry, offered a historical and economic perspective that felt particularly appropriate in Japan, where legacy and credibility matter deeply.
Riccardo Longato, founder and CEO of Clear, brought a message about technology, standards, and certification requirements.
Mariana Larrea discussed stigma, medicine, and patients, grounding the discussion in human outcomes rather than abstract policy.
Joining them was Olivia Ekenuwke, a German cannabis lawyer whose comparative legal analysis highlighted how Europe has navigated reform through incrementalism, court challenges, and patient-first frameworks. Her presence underscored an important truth: Japan is not alone in taking a cautious path, but it must eventually take a path.
Attiyah Ferrouz was also present, contributing insight on compliance and international hemp policy, rounding out a truly global conversation.
Ryan Bellone brought a message of considering cannabinoids as ingredients and highlighted the global cannabinoid ingredient supply chain.
And weaving through it all was the presence of Laura Ramos, an international cannabis journalist whose reporting continues to document these inflection points as they happen, not after the fact. Witnesses matter.
Many of the speakers—including several of those above—had just participated in the Asian Hemp Expo in Bangkok. The geographical proximity between Japan and Thailand makes the contrast impossible to ignore.
A Regional Contrast
Thailand’s cannabis journey has been fast, loud, and at times chaotic. Legalization cracked open cultural doors almost overnight. Cannabis is visible, commercial, and woven into daily life in ways that would be unthinkable in Japan.
But Thailand is now in a recalibration phase. Regulation is tightening. Medical frameworks are being reasserted. The free-for-all is giving way to structure. But that structure has led to the production of some of the world’s finest cannabis, which is being grown, in large part, for export. Jordan Tyler Herring, the visionary and dynamic leader of Hidden Valley Genetics Thailand, brought his California-based experience to Southeast Asia, which serves as a model for how things should be done. But I digress…
Japan, by contrast, hasn’t cracked at all. Instead, it is studying. Observing. Learning.
That difference was formally acknowledged just days before JIHE, during an event at the Thai Embassy in Tokyo, where officials and industry representatives announced a cooperative framework between Japan and Thailand for the continued development of the hemp industry. The symbolism was powerful: two countries, vastly different in cannabis policy, finding common ground through hemp. At the Embassy, Patrick Atagi, of the U.S. National Industrial Hemp Council, delivered a somber talk at the very moment the U.S. Congress had enacted a Resolution to effectively ban hemp derivatives in the U.S.
While Thailand offers a glimpse of what rapid reform looks like, Japan offers a lesson in patience.
In Tokyo, I was so fortunate to meet Satoshi Morimoto. One of the most memorable people I met went simply by his Instagram handle: @mr_japanese_cannabis. He was thoughtful. Soft-spoken. Fully aware of the risks inherent in even being publicly associated with the plant in Japan. He wasn’t loud. He didn’t posture. He connected people quietly, deliberately, like someone who understands that progress here happens in inches, not miles. He hosted a bunch of us one evening at his friend’s karaoke club (there are possibly 100,000 karaoke clubs in Tokyo, by the way), where songs were sung in English, Japanese, Spanish, Italian, and everything in between.
At one point during my travels, someone discreetly gifted me a small amount of cannabis. It wasn’t very good, but that wasn’t the point. What mattered was the warning that came with it:
“Do not smoke this anywhere someone might see or smell.”
It wasn’t paranoia. It was protection.
In that moment, the abstract idea of stigma became concrete. This wasn’t about enforcement alone, but it was about social consequence. In Japan, shame can be as powerful as law.
Japan’s Cannabis Control Act remains one of the strictest in the developed world. THC is prohibited. Possession arrests are aggressively prosecuted. In 2026, Japan is transitioning towards a new framework for medical cannabis—a pharma-like model—following the passage of legislation in late 2023, which aims to legalize cannabis-derived medicines while strengthening penalties for illegal recreational use. CBD exists only when it is demonstrably THC-free.
Hemp cultivation is permitted under narrow licensing schemes, with strict oversight and limited research pathways. Reform discussions exist, but they move slowly, shaped by cultural conservatism and a deep-seated fear of social disruption.
And yet, the irony is unavoidable: Japan is one of the most orderly societies on earth. If any country could manage cannabis responsibly, it would be this one. But that seems like a faraway sunshine daydream.
Japan as a Masterclass of Intention
Outside the conference halls, Japan was endlessly rewarding. The food alone felt like a masterclass in intention. Sushi that redefined freshness. Yakitori eaten standing in alleyways. Tempura so light it seemed to disappear. Even convenience stores offered meals better than many American restaurants. Eating the multi-course Kaiseki dinners, which seemed to never end.
We were once asked to leave at least one restaurant because of strong perfume scent, which apparently, is a recognized, albeit strict, consequence of violating Japanese dining etiquette. Who knew?! One of my favorites was a ramen counter in an alley that bordered on a spiritual experience.
The sake was always exceptional; it’s clean, complex, ceremonial. Like everything else, it was consumed with care.
Traveling across the country on high-speed trains was a revelation. Silent, smooth, precise. The subways of Tokyo were works of art in efficiency.
We visited Hakone, with its surreal gardens and mountainous scenery, and where the nearby views of Mount Fuji felt unreal; almost like a painting refusing to move. But Hakone offered more than scenery; it offered insight. Soaking in the hot springs there while immersed in onsen culture, wearing a traditional kimono, and moving deliberately through spaces governed by ritual and restraint, I began to understand Japan’s regulatory psyche in a way no policy memo ever could.
The Onsen Theory of Change
An onsen is not something you rush. You do not enter it abruptly. You prepare. You wash. You wait. You respect the space, the people around you, and the accumulated wisdom that says timing matters. And don’t be late for your dinner time, or they will come into your room and get you! And the hot pools, where you need to ease into the temperature slowly, or else!
That, it struck me, is Japan’s relationship with hemp…and eventually cannabis.
Where other jurisdictions plunge headlong into reform, Japan is testing the temperature. Hemp is the warm water at the edge of the pool. Regulation is the preparation. Social trust is the gatekeeper. The process is slow by design, not by ignorance. Change here is not meant to be disruptive; it is meant to be absorbed—much like the sixteen-course dinners!
Standing there, wrapped in a kimono, steam rising into the cold mountain air, I realized that Japan may not be behind, but it may simply be waiting until the conditions are right for the body politic to enter without harm. Reform, like the onsen, will come when it can be sustained, not merely survived. Kyoto was a lesson in reverence: temples, torii gates, geisha history, and layers of history that demanded quiet attention.
And everywhere—no cannabis. No smoke. No scent. No signal.
Playing the Long Game
Looking forward, Japan will change. It always has, but never on anyone else’s clock.
Hemp will continue to lead the way, quietly expanding the perimeter of what is culturally and politically acceptable. Medical necessity will slowly develop, introduced not through activism but through evidence. Science will open doors that rhetoric cannot. And when cannabis reform finally arrives in Japan, it will not look like California, Colorado, or Thailand. It will look Japanese.
Thailand, for its part, will continue to mature, moving from exuberant liberalization toward equilibrium and structure. The initial shock has passed. What remains is the harder work of governance. The two countries, now formally cooperating on hemp development, represent opposite ends of the cannabis reform spectrum, but together they sketch the future of cannabis in Asia: diverse, non-linear, and deeply shaped by culture.
JIHE 2025 was not about rebellion. It was about respect…for history, for law, for social cohesion, and for the long game.
As an American, that was both humbling and instructive. We are accustomed to speed, scale, and disruption. Japan reminds us that legitimacy is built differently—and sometimes more durably—when change is allowed to steep.
There is far more to discover here. And when the light finally shifts in Japan, it will do so quietly at first, until, suddenly, it is everywhere.
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
