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<\/picture> <\/div>\nOn the night of the World Cup final, televisions glow from almost every pub in Liverpool. But just six bus stops from the city’s famous Anfield stadium, Gary Youds has opted not to show the match at his cannabis social club and harm reduction center.<\/span><\/p>\n Inside the Chillin’ Rooms on Holt Road, about 30 members sit shoulder to shoulder on old church pews, drinking tea beneath a portrait of John Lennon and a sign declaring “ALCOHOL KILLS, CANNABIS CHILLS.” Members are smoking spliffs, although a powerful ventilation system keeps the air surprisingly clear. At the far end of the room is a fully equipped stage where local musicians perform most nights. There is no television in sight.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n The place could be heaving with soccer fans. But Youds says live sports would ruin the decidedly mellow vibe.<\/span><\/p>\n “I don’t want no screens in here,” says the 56-year-old Liverpudlian, dressed in his customary white T-shirt bearing the Chinese character for cannabis. That same symbol is unmissable outside, on the black metal gates that the police have sawed through more than once. The arms of Youds’ glasses are neon green. A “Chillin’ Rooms” tattoo peeks from beneath his left sleeve. He is wearing a pair of green Crocs dotted with cannabis-related symbols. He holds a mug of tea in one hand and a joint in the other. “I want people connecting and talking face to face,” he adds. “No gimmicks.”<\/span><\/p>\n It is an unusually strict rule for a man who has spent more than two decades defying the U.K.’s cannabis laws. The father of two, who uses cannabis to manage his spinal arthritis, has been arrested more than 30 times, been convicted 10 times, served four prison sentences, been repeatedly raided by ransacking police, and lost his home. The local newspaper anointed him “The Cannabis Martyr.” He sleeps in his elderly mother’s living room and claims to live on less than 100 pounds per week (about $135). Yet the club is thriving.<\/span><\/p>\n Youds believes the Chillin’ Rooms model could be replicated nationally, turning dwindling pubs and vacant shops into alcohol-free cannabis caf\u00e9s. “This would chill the country out if we had one in every town and city,” he says. “It’s going to create jobs and put the country back to work. This is a self-seeded community, and it’s oven-ready for the whole of the U.K.”<\/span><\/p>\n A third of Britons <\/span>admit<\/span><\/a> to having used cannabis, and <\/span>consumers<\/span><\/a> sustain an illegal market <\/span>worth<\/span><\/a> billions, none of which reaches the taxman. “We’re taking cannabis off the streets, ” Youds says. “That’s why I’m holding my head up high. There’s no <\/span>empty building<\/span><\/a> in this city that couldn’t be repurposed for this industry.”<\/span><\/p>\n Over four nights at the Chillin’ Rooms in July, I meet members from Brazil, Sudan, India, and Australia; young men arriving alone; trans and gay regulars; entrepreneurs, students, scientists, and builders; and elderly patrons greeted by name. Many describe cannabis as medicine. Longtime neighbors tell me the only disturbances they have witnessed come when dozens of police officers descend on the building.<\/span><\/p>\n To the authorities, Youds is a persistent criminal. In the Chillin’ Rooms, he is treated like an elder statesman. “The congregation is growing,” he says. “Jailing me again would just elevate my profile more.”<\/span><\/p>\n Until August 3, 2024, entry to the Chillin’ Rooms required a referral. There was no Chinese character emblazoned on the gates, and new members generally arrived by word of mouth. That day, as anti-immigration protests spread across Merseyside, the county that contains Liverpool, Youds told his probation officer that “the city needs to chill out” and that his multicultural caf\u00e9 could serve as a bastion of racial unity.<\/span><\/p>\n It was also his first night without an ankle tag enforcing an evening curfew. He returned to Holt Road, pulled open the gates, and stood outside.<\/span><\/p>\n Nobody came in that night. But Youds’ doors have remained open from 11 a.m. to 11pm, seven days a week, ever since. The Chillin’ Rooms receives hundreds of visitors per week. “Right now, it’s the best I’ve ever seen it,” says stuntman Eddie Sarsfield, who suffered serious burns on his arms working on <\/span>Gladiator II<\/span><\/i> and now has a medical cannabis prescription. He has visited the club since it reopened after the COVID-19 pandemic.<\/span><\/p>\n Recently, he says, two visitors from Portugal arrived after asking an AI chatbot where they could smoke cannabis in Liverpool.<\/span><\/p>\n “This is a ray of sunshine for the community,” Sarsfield adds. “Gary has become a messianic figure. For so long, he’s just consistently been a good guy. He’s done nothing but say the exact same thing and fight the exact same cause for nearly 25 years. He deserves a break. Everyone knows that.”<\/span><\/p>\n The contrast with the surrounding back streets can be stark. Holt Road sits in a deprived area where bike-riding dealers sell crack to fund their own addictions and women <\/span>sell sex<\/span><\/a> on nearby Shiel Road. Territorial feuds between Liverpool gangs are common. Yet rivals who might clash elsewhere have made peace inside the Chillin’ Rooms. “People are coming here from all different parts of Liverpool,” says Lee, who works at the club and does not want to use his real name due to the cannabis laws. “In any other place, you would not get this. I’ve worked in bars for years\u2014there’d be some sort of fight.”<\/span><\/p>\n A few months ago, Lee says, members of two rival gangs arrived on the same night and tension began to build. Youds persuaded them to sit down together. “They talked it out and squashed their beef,” Lee says. “He’s an absolute legend. He’s out litter-picking every day. People come from the other end of the country to visit and have a joint with Gary.”<\/span><\/p>\n Members describe the place as an urban oasis: part caf\u00e9, part community center, part informal clinic. People with epilepsy, Parkinson’s disease, and chronic pain come through its gates. Some arrive carrying medical cannabis prescriptions; others remain locked out of that expensive system, which relies almost entirely on private clinics rather than the National Health Service. “They come in shaking,” says Lisa, who also works at the Chillin’ Rooms and did not want to give her surname. “But once they’ve had a smoke, they’ve stopped shaking.”<\/span><\/p>\n Dave, a disabled member with complex regional pain syndrome, was among the first people in the country to obtain medicinal cannabis flower legally and has driven more than an hour with his wife from Cheshire to visit the Chillin’ Rooms. “People would be at home consuming their medication alone, but here we can connect with each other,” he says. Before he discovered that cannabis abates his pain, he recalls, he was a “morphine zombie.”<\/span><\/p>\n “I was a drooling mess,” Dave says. “I had to be maintained 100 percent of the time. I was on morphine and fentanyl and couldn’t string a sentence together. But now I can contribute.” He spends around 1,000 pounds a month (about $1,350) for enough cannabis to manage his condition, consuming the plant four times a day. But obtaining cannabis legally has not stopped patients nationwide from being <\/span>harassed<\/span><\/a> by police, arrested, and taken to court.<\/span><\/p>\n Dave’s neighbors have reported him over the smell, and police have repeatedly visited his home, arriving in three cars on one occasion. “I was in the kitchen having my medication, and the copper put his foot in the door and tried to walk into our house,” he says. “My son asked him, ‘Do you think fentanyl and morphine’s safe just because it’s prescribed by your G.P.?’ The copper did not know what to say.”<\/span><\/p>\n Others say the club has helped them stop drinking. One member, a lifelong alcoholic in his early 70s, tells me he gradually lost the urge to visit the pub after he began spending time here. For him and many others, the Chillin’ Rooms offers the familiarity and companionship of a local bar without the alcohol, aggression, or pressure to keep spending money. “This is my pub now,” he says.<\/span><\/p>\n On busy evenings, the Chillin’ Rooms becomes a neighborhood music venue with up to 100 people filling the pews. Youds says one of his greatest pleasures is watching musicians rehearse during the week and gradually perfect their performances, which often reference the caf\u00e9’s caretaker. “He ain’t a criminal or gangster \/ He’s just a cannabis martyr \/ To be free, in what will be,” sings one local artist.<\/span><\/p>\nHow the Cannabis Caf\u00e9 Serves the Community<\/b><\/h1>\n
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