23rd August 2025 – (Hong Kong) In the past two months alone, Hong Kong Customs has intercepted more than HK$10 million worth of cannabis buds smuggled in by passengers travelling from Bangkok. Each week, new arrests are announced at Chek Lap Kok: a 26-year-old caught with 12 kilograms vacuum-sealed in his suitcase, two men carrying 20 kilograms between them, a woman concealing 11 kilograms alongside illicit cigarettes. The pattern is now familiar, almost routine. Despite the Dangerous Drugs Ordinance prescribing life imprisonment and fines of up to HK$5 million for trafficking, the flow of cannabis into Hong Kong remains steady. The question is no longer whether the city has a cannabis problem but why its appetite for the drug has proven so resilient in the face of unforgiving laws and relentless enforcement.
The answer lies partly in the streets themselves. Walk through Mong Kok after dark or take a turn into Sheung Wan’s older walk-ups and the pungent odour of cannabis leaks from stairwells, drifting above the din of traffic and neon. The scent is so common that it now competes with the aromas of skewered meat and stinky tofu that once defined the districts. Cannabis is no longer hidden in the corners of Hong Kong nightlife; it has seeped into the everyday. Its presence is a signal of changing attitudes, particularly among younger cohorts who see it less as a dangerous narcotic and more as an instrument of relaxation, self-expression or even quiet rebellion.
Snoop Dogg has, for decades, embodied the global face of cannabis culture. Unlike many artists who skirt controversy, he has built his persona around unapologetically embracing marijuana, smoking it openly on stage, in interviews, and across his music career. His advocacy has gone far beyond symbolism: in recent years he has expanded into the business side of the industry, founding Casa Verde Capital, a venture capital firm dedicated to funding cannabis enterprises, and partnering with established names such as Cookies to launch his own strain, Doggy Bagg. He has also worked with Leafly to release the Indica-dominant hybrid Snoop Dogg OG and collaborated with Pentagram to create a line of THC-infused products. In doing so, Snoop’s image as the archetypal “weed icon” has not just reflected a culture but aggressively helped shape it.
This influence has bled far beyond North America. As cannabis legalisation has swept across parts of Europe and the United States, figures like Snoop Dogg have accelerated the mainstreaming of marijuana by turning it into a lifestyle brand—part of music, fashion, celebrity identity and digital culture. For young people in Hong Kong, plugged into global social media and streaming platforms, the sight of revered artists lighting up on stage or endorsing cannabis products reframes marijuana not as a crime but as a marker of authenticity, creativity and cool. When luxury brands incorporate hemp motifs into their lines, when rappers promote cannabis openly, and when peers return from overseas universities with stories of dispensaries that resemble high-end boutiques, the perception of cannabis in Hong Kong shifts accordingly. For a generation raised on globalised culture, prohibition looks increasingly outdated, a colonial-era relic out of sync with the modern world.
Meanwhile, Hong Kong is a city defined by pressure: rising rents, long commutes, punishing work culture and a competitive education system. For many, cannabis represents an escape hatch, a way to soften the edges of anxiety and insomnia without the stigma of psychiatric treatment or the destructiveness of alcohol. Anecdotes abound of young professionals who end their day with a joint instead of a whisky, claiming it helps them sleep, eat or simply endure the relentless pace of the city. The pandemic intensified these habits. Isolated in cramped flats, many experimented with cannabis as a coping mechanism, just as counterparts in California or Berlin did.
Yet the dangers remain underappreciated. Cannabis may not kill like heroin, but its risks are real. Research shows that cannabis smoke carries many of the same carcinogens as tobacco and can impair cardiovascular health. Its effect on cognition, particularly among adolescents, is well documented, leading to memory impairment and reduced concentration. In Hong Kong, where academic performance can determine life trajectories, this is no small risk. There is also the problem of dependency. While advocates insist cannabis is not addictive in the traditional sense, habitual use can become entrenched, eroding motivation and productivity. One foreign user, reflecting on her daily cannabis routine in Los Angeles, admitted she was “always stoned” and “less presentable, less productive” but loved the comfort it brought. Transpose this lifestyle into Hong Kong’s hyper-competitive economy, and the consequences could be deeply corrosive.
The paradox is that many Hong Kongers who would never touch heroin or cocaine regard cannabis as harmless. Surveys show that a rising number of people believe cannabis smoke is safer than tobacco. This perception gap is dangerous. As public health experts warn, the absence of conclusive long-term studies on cannabis does not mean the absence of harm. Meanwhile, the evidence we do have—respiratory issues, cardiovascular strain, impaired driving—suggests caution is warranted. The problem is compounded by the glamour attached to cannabis. In neighbourhoods where young people already face limited upward mobility, cannabis can masquerade as a symbol of coolness, creativity and escape, masking the reality of addiction and diminished prospects.
For traffickers, Hong Kong remains a goldmine, and Bangkok a convenient gateway. Even though the Thai government has recently reversed course by re-criminalising recreational cannabis sales after its 2022 liberalisation, smuggling to Hong Kong shows no sign of slowing. The brief period of relaxed laws created a billion-dollar industry and a glut of supply, much of which continues to find its way onto the black market despite the tightening of regulations. Suvarnabhumi Airport has drawn particular scrutiny, with reports of lax oversight emboldening couriers who exploit the stark contrast between Thailand’s permissiveness and Hong Kong’s zero-tolerance stance.
The economics remain irresistible. A kilogram of cannabis bought cheaply in Bangkok can be sold for a fortune once smuggled into Hong Kong, where street demand is strong and prices are multiples higher. For the couriers—often recruited from vulnerable backgrounds—the promise of instant cash outweighs the looming threat of life imprisonment under Hong Kong’s Dangerous Drugs Ordinance.
Thailand’s new rules, which require prescriptions for all cannabis purchases and effectively ban recreational use, have thrown its once-booming cannabis sector into chaos. Entrepreneurs who rushed to open shops after 2022 now face clinic-style registration requirements and the prospect of closure. Yet while legitimate retailers falter, traffickers thrive. The uncertainty and confusion within Thailand’s domestic market have not stemmed the flow of cannabis across borders. On the contrary, the restrictions may have strengthened the incentive for some suppliers to offload their stock abroad, ensuring Hong Kong’s black market remains well fed despite the shifting tides of Thai policy.
However, supply exists only because demand continues to rise. And demand persists because cannabis has become, for many, a cultural adhesive. It is part of late-night conversations in Sham Shui Po cafés, part of hidden rooftop gatherings in Kwun Tong, part of the invisible soundtrack of Hong Kong youth. It is also bound up with the city’s identity crisis. For a generation struggling to reconcile traditional expectations with a globalised worldview, cannabis has become both an act of defiance and a coping mechanism.
What is missing in Hong Kong’s debate is nuance. Authorities rightly emphasise the legal consequences—life in prison, million-dollar fines, criminal records that destroy futures. But they have been less effective in addressing why people seek cannabis in the first place. A poster warning of prison time does little to dissuade a stressed-out 22-year-old who believes weed is the only thing that calms his racing mind. Enforcement alone cannot resolve what is fundamentally a social and psychological issue. The government’s own figures show that cannabis is now among the top three drugs abused by young people, alongside cocaine and “space oil,” a synthetic alternative. If the state wishes to reverse this trend, it must confront the underlying drivers: stress, alienation, and the global allure of cannabis culture.
The paradox is that Hong Kong has historically been adept at public health campaigns. From anti-smoking drives to mask adoption during SARS, the city has shown it can change behaviour through sustained messaging and cultural shifts. A similar effort is required for cannabis. The message must go beyond scare tactics to address misconceptions, highlight health risks and offer alternatives for coping with stress. Without this, the pungent smell wafting through Mong Kok’s night markets will only grow stronger, a sign not of cultural liberation but of systemic failure.
Cannabis in Hong Kong is more than a legal problem; it is a mirror reflecting the city’s anxieties, aspirations and contradictions. Its growing presence in the streets, despite weekly airport busts, signals that prohibition alone is not working. Hong Kongers, like their peers worldwide, are drawn to cannabis for reasons that are emotional as much as recreational, cultural as much as chemical. To understand this demand is to understand the pressures of life in this city. To ignore it is to risk a generation lulled into complacency by a drug they believe harmless, even as it quietly reshapes their health, productivity and future.
Sean Hocking
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