The long road to redemption

The cannabis industry is full of stories about entrepreneurs chasing the “green rush,” but few are as powerful, or as locally resonant, as the one unfolding for Redemption Cannabis founder Ryan Basore. For this Dansville native, the company’s expansion into West Virginia is the culmination of a decade-and-a-half-long journey that began with a federal prison sentence.

A little over fifteen years ago, Basore was one of the “Okemos 7,” a group of Michigan medical marijuana caregivers who were targeted by federal authorities despite operating in compliance with state law. The case became a flashpoint for cannabis advocates, a stark example of the conflict between state-legal cannabis and federal prohibition. Basore was sentenced to four years in a federal facility in Morgantown, West Virginia, for conspiracy to manufacture marijuana.

Now, through a new partnership with cannabis giant Trulieve, Redemption’s flower and strain-specific Rick Simpson Oil are available in that very same state. It’s a poetic twist of fate that the brand Basore built on the principle of redemption would eventually find its way to the place where he lost his freedom for the very plant he now legally sells.

The move is a testament to the seismic shifts in cannabis law, but it’s also a powerful reminder of how far there is to go. As Basore has often stated, the name Redemption isn’t just about his story. A portion of the company’s revenue goes to the Redemption Foundation, which provides financial and legal assistance to people formerly and currently incarcerated for nonviolent cannabis offenses.

This mission-driven approach to business is what makes the Trulieve partnership especially significant. The corporate giant has its own history of working with cannabis activists and formerly incarcerated individuals. For example, Trulieve partnered with Richard DeLisi, believed to be the longest-serving nonviolent cannabis prisoner in U.S. history, to launch the DeLisioso brand.

The company also worked with Robert Platshorn, the leader of the notorious Black Tuna Gang, a massive marijuana smuggling operation in the 1970s. After serving nearly 30 years in prison for his role, Platshorn became a leading advocate for medical cannabis use among seniors. His partnership with Trulieve to release a Black Tuna-branded strain brought his story back into the public eye.

These and other initiatives, such as partnering with the Last Prisoner Project and sponsoring expungement clinics, demonstrate a commitment to social justice and the long-overdue work of repairing the damage caused by the war on drugs. In this context, the partnership with Redemption is not just a strategic alliance but a logical extension of shared values.

While Basore’s story is one of second chances, it also highlights the stark paradox of an industry built on the backs of those who were punished for the same thing. The very product that created this multi-billion-dollar market is the same one that kept a Lansing entrepreneur in a West Virginia prison.

Beyond West Virginia, Redemption continues its national expansion. The brand is already available in Pennsylvania and Maryland, and it has been bringing flower to the Oklahoma market for years through an agreement with ALTVM Genetics. This long-term strategy demonstrates the company’s clear and consistent vision for national growth.

As for what’s next, Basore’s vision for Redemption is multifaceted. He’ll continue to expand the brand into new states, carrying his mission of advocacy and restorative justice with him. He remains dedicated to supporting nonviolent cannabis prisoners, both current and former, providing them with the resources they need to navigate the legal system and find their own redemption.

And, for himself, Basore has set a personal goal: pursuing a federal pardon for his conviction. While President Joe Biden issued pardons for possession, Basore’s specific charge of conspiracy to manufacture marijuana is more complex and typically requires filing a more detailed, case-by-case application with the U.S. Office of the Pardon Attorney. Though a pardon wouldn’t erase his record, it would be a symbolic legal victory, a final act of closure that would formally acknowledge the injustice of his past conviction in the eyes of the federal government. It’s a final, personal fight for justice in an industry that owes him, and so many others, an overdue measure of it.