Much of the opposition to the legalisation of cannabis, pronounced in the context of the debate on legalisation provoked by government, boils down to morality and misinformation. The two have become intertwined after half a century of lurid denigration of all drugs, cannabis included.

Given the sensationalism of the hideousness of addiction on the media, many people struggle to make the distinction between cannabis and other harder, dangerous drugs. And many people equally struggle to comprehend that the majority of cannabis smokers lead normal, productive lives.

The irony is that consumption of cannabis is prevalent to the point – at least one in 20 smoke in Malta and a markedly larger percentage do so in northwest Europe – where all of us know someone either socially or at work who partakes. But most people would never imagine that that person is a smoker, if only because he seems normal – respectable, successful, responsible.

I even know of public figures, people we exalt for their exemplariness, who smoke cannabis. Of course these people keep their smoking undisclosed because consumption remains illegal, and because, given the hysteria about drugs in significant swathes of society, disclosure can be perilous to one’s career and social standing.

So we only tend to see the problematic users, the people whose lives and the lives of those around them are disrupted by drug addiction. But addicts are addicted to harder drugs, not cannabis; and addicts are no more representative of smokers than alcoholics are representative of drinkers. And that begets the question: should something be banned because a small percentage of users are intemperate?

The opponents to legalisation then bring something else out of the bag. They march out rehabilitated addicts (people of faulty, addictive personalities who are indoctrinated during rehabilitation) onto stages to pronounce that, although cannabis may be mild and hardly addictive, it is insidious because it’s a gateway drug.

It doesn’t matter that the empirical evidence does not tally, that since the overwhelming majority of users do not become addicts of harder drugs then this claim of ‘gateway drug’ is rather tenuous. Neither does it matter that logic would suggest that there are precursors to cannabis – smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol – that could be equally be pinned as the gateway drugs, at least if we have to run with this argument.

It doesn’t matter because many of those opposed to cannabis tend to see it as something inherently abominable. Their antipathy has a basis in moralistic reasoning. Since the perception is of drug-taking being morally deviant, cannabis too is seen as the preserve of loose people, or at least something that meddles with the proper moralistic formation of our youth.

Proponents of legalisation, on the other hand, often reiterate that cannabis is less harmful than cigarettes and alcohol, the implication being that there is no defence for cannabis being illegal for as long as cigarettes and alcohol are not illegal. But that argument can be wobbly too: harm equivalence is not an excuse for condoning something, in this case cannabis.

Regular, heavy use of consumption of cannabis does have undesirable side-effects. It is also a carcinogenic (once again like cigarettes and alcohol), and the science now shows that it can mess with the mental faculties of adolescents. Equally seriously, it can precipitate psychosis and/or schizophrenia in individuals susceptible to those conditions.

It would indeed be foolish and irresponsible for anyone who suffers from schizophrenia to take cannabis. About 4,000 people in Malta have been diagnosed with schizophrenia, but it’s not known how many more are susceptible to getting the condition. But once again, that begets the question: just because a tiny percentage of the general population is susceptible to precipitating these mental conditions if they smoke, should it be illegal for everyone else?

I see legalisation not as something that condones cannabis as innocuous and wonderful; I see legalisation as a more sophisticated form of control than prohibition

Most people smoke cannabis recreationally for the sense of euphoria and mild hallucinations, or enhancement of sensory perceptions. It can foster greater sociability, making some people talkative and giggly (others experience the opposite, becoming withdrawn and sleepy). Others smoke it for relaxation in the privacy of their homes, or to tamp down anxieties or worries (in some people the effect is the opposite, it intensifies paranoia). Some smoke to ease chronic pain, or to sleep (I have a friend, for example, who began to smoke when a breast cancer diagnosis didn’t let her sleep; cannabis made her sleep, and she only smoked it for several months until her anxieties subsided and her mind quieted, then she never touched it again). Others still smoke it to be inspired during the psychoactive state (in India, holy men smoke it in temples to enhance the spiritual experience).

I have smoked cannabis from time to time, although at this point in my life I seldom smoke. I do worry that smoking might fudge my mind, affecting my cognitive capacity (I also worry that alcohol affects cognition; in both cases, alcohol and cannabis, I take a cautionary approach). But I might take to it in old age once my chronic medical conditions worsen (my long-running backpain is intensifying with age, and cannabis eases back pain; sleeplessness from worrying is also intensifying with age, and cannabis induces sleep).

So I have an interest at least in medical cannabis in its wide sense. Yet I see legalisation not as something that condones cannabis as innocuous and wonderful; I see legalisation as a more sophisticated form of control than prohibition. It would become something like alcohol, something to be consumed in moderation and under a control regime.

Cannabis is not for everyone, and not for all the time – it is not a chewing gum. If you consume it all day long then it’s going to diminish your productivity and sociability, it would cause torpor and absent-mindedness. And if you are an adolescent there is a risk that it would fudge your mind even if you smoke it sparingly – adolescents, like those susceptible to psychosis and schizophrenia, would do well to steer away from it. For most people it would be limited to a joint in the evening for relaxation (just like people like to have a glass or two of wine in the evening), or to smoking during social events.

Potency is an important variable to bear in mind. The cannabis on the Maltese market is predominantly Moroccan hash of low-potency (low THC values or percentages), and it would make sense to maintain that low-potency status after legalisation. That’s because low-potency cannabis is more tenuously associated with onset of psychosis and schizophrenia, less likely to affect cognition, and less disabling in performing tasks such as driving.

Ensuring that cannabis in Malta remains of the low-potency variety would require the government to be in control of production or importation as well as point of sales. That could mean, for example, that people have to procure a permit to buy cannabis, which could be sold either directly from government dispensaries or from pharmacies (and permit holders would only be able to purchase a predefined amount every month). Taxes raised from cannabis sales could then be used to fund a continuous educational campaign as well as stepped-up law enforcement (targeted towards sale of cannabis through illicit channels, as well as the dangerous synthetic cannabis that’s circulating in the market).

Legalisation is not so much a question of morality or science. It’s a political decision – a largely riskless decision, as demonstrated by other places that have legalised or permitted cannabis consumption (Uruguay, Amsterdam, Portugal, a raft of US states) – and since it seems that that political decision has been taken, the question now is how not if.

Let’s debate how to get the safeguards right so that after legalisation those who consume do so more responsibly than now.