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We build our bridges with steel meant to outlive winter after winter. We test our basements against rising rivers. We shovel with resolve, not complaint. And in recent years, we built something else — something delicate, carefully regulated, and uniquely Minnesotan: a responsible hemp-derived THC industry that became both an economic stabilizer and a cultural shift.
That industry now stands at the edge of a cliff, pushed there not by voters, consumers, or public-health researchers, but by a single line slipped into the federal government funding bill that ended the recent shutdown.
A line that could erase thousands of jobs.
A line that could shutter breweries, farms, labs, packaging plants, and storefronts.
A line that could halt years of scientific progress and responsible innovation.
A line that could devastate Minnesota’s rural and urban economies alike.
If it takes effect in November 2026, the federal ban on impairing hemp-derived beverages and foods will not merely change the THC landscape. It will detonate it.
And in Minnesota — perhaps more than anywhere else — the explosion will be felt in real homes, real farms, real businesses, real families.
Minnesota did what Washington would not: it designed one of the country’s strictest and clearest regulatory systems for low-dose, hemp-derived THC. Since 2022, infused beverages and edibles here have been legal for adults over 21, derived from certified hemp, subject to precise dosage limits, and required to undergo third-party lab testing.
These were not gas-station vapes of unknown origin. They were Minnesota-regulated products with batch testing, supply-chain traceability, and labeling standards — the kind of framework many national cannabis experts have praised as a responsible model.
And Minnesotans responded.
Indeed Brewing, Bauhaus Brew Labs, Insight Brewing, and dozens of others found stability in THC beverages as alcohol sales declined. At Indeed, THC drinks now make up close to a quarter of the brewery’s business, according to Chief Business Officer Ryan Bandy. Bauhaus reports that THC beverages account for 26% of distributed revenue and 11% of taproom revenue. These numbers are not side ventures. They are pillars.
When winter keeps Minnesotans inside, breweries survive on innovation. When inflation tightens household budgets, THC beverages — lighter, lower-dose, and socially acceptable — have become a gentler alternative to alcohol for many. They are part of a new ritual: a soft drink for a softer lift, shared among friends in Northeast Minneapolis, at backyard bonfires, or at family cabins.
This was not chaos. This was responsible evolution.
But Washington is punishing responsibility.
The 2018 Farm Bill defined hemp as cannabis with less than 0.3% delta-9 THC by dry weight. That definition inadvertently permitted the creation of intoxicating products that technically complied with the limit, and it allowed producers to convert CBD into delta-8 or delta-10, compounds that also cause impairment.
Congress opened the door.
Industry walked through.
States scrambled to respond.
Minnesota responded more deliberately and effectively than most.
Retailers from small co-ops to major chains — including Target, which now carries several Minnesota-made THC beverages — embraced the state’s rigorously controlled products. Farmers began planting hemp intended for compliant extraction. Scientists and chemists in small labs developed reliable low-dose formulations. Economists watched rural counties gain new revenue after years of commodity price instability.
Now, the federal government may erase this progress because Sen. Mitch McConnell — who helped shape the 2018 definition — inserted a federal ban on impairing hemp products into a shutdown bill with no public hearing or committee debate.
In a bipartisan vote, the Senate accepted the language 76–24.
The industry was given one year to unwind itself.
The U.S. Hemp Roundtable estimates the federal ban could threaten over 300,000 jobs nationwide and cost states more than $1.5 billion in tax revenue. Minnesota’s share is disproportionately large — not because the state was reckless, but because its regulated framework allowed the industry to flourish.
Minnesota didn’t simply adopt hemp-derived THC.
It refined it.
Now, what stands to be lost?
Production lines at Indeed and Bauhaus could go dark. Packaging suppliers across Greater Minnesota would lose contracts. Distribution companies would lose routes. Taprooms would lose foot traffic.
Bauhaus COO Drew Hurst says plainly:
“If this goes through as written currently, I don’t see a way at all that Bauhaus could stay in business.”
This is not alarmism. It is arithmetic.
Hemp provided a rare, stable new crop for Minnesota farmers after years of volatile soy and corn markets. But as Insight Brewing co-founder Kevin Hilliard warned:
“If a farmer has uncertainty, they’re not going to plant.”
Rural Minnesota — already strained by population decline, plant closures, and shrinking Main Streets — is now told that an industry it adopted legally and responsibly may be eliminated from afar.
Minnesota’s labs and research facilities — many of them small, independently owned, and staffed by chemists, food scientists, and early-career researchers — built national best practices for low-dose formulations.
A federal ban does not regulate their work.
It erases it.
Years of method development disappear.
Startups vanish before reaching market.
A rare scientific job sector in Minnesota collapses.
Few states carry wounds from institutional failure as deep as Minnesota’s post-2020.
A well-regulated THC market helped rebuild some measure of trust. Consumers saw rules that worked:
Clear dosing.
Clear labeling.
Local oversight.
Public health guardrails.
Economic benefit.
To watch Washington override that success with a single amendment is to remind Minnesotans that local competence can be undone by distant indifference.
Sen. Amy Klobuchar has noted the ban was added “without a hearing.”
Sen. Tina Smith has joined discussions to find an alternative path.
But the larger question is structural: Does state governance still matter?
Minnesota’s system — widely viewed as one of the most responsible in the nation — balances adult freedom, public safety, product testing, and agricultural viability. Many policy experts have suggested Minnesota’s framework could serve as a national model.
Instead of studying that model, Washington may override it.
This signals something dangerous:
States can spend years building thoughtful regulatory systems, only to see them undone through procedural shortcuts.
That is not regulation.
It is disruption without deliberation.
Walk through the Twin Cities and you will see who bears the cost of this ban:
The 62-year-old farmer outside Hutchinson who finally found stability after soy prices fell.
The lab technician in St. Paul who spent years perfecting safe low-dose formulas and bought her first home last spring.
The packaging-line worker at Indeed whose job survived declining beer sales because THC seltzer filled the gap.
The young scientist at a Minneapolis startup researching sustainable extraction methods that may never see commercial use.
The small-business owner on Lake Street — rebuilding after civil unrest — whose THC beverages finally turned a profit.
Their stories are not adjacent to the economy.
They are the economy.
Minnesotans know storms.
We know the howl of wind against windows.
We know the way a January night tightens its grip.
We know that survival is collective.
We know destruction often arrives quietly, then suddenly.
But this storm is political, not meteorological.
And unlike a blizzard, this one can be stopped.
Congress can revise the ban.
States can request carve-outs.
Minnesota’s regulatory framework can become the national standard.
Scientists can continue innovating.
Farmers can continue planting.
Brewers can keep their doors open.
Communities can keep healing.
The question is whether Washington will listen.
The ban should never have been inserted into a funding bill.
It should never have passed without testimony.
It should never penalize states that built responsible systems.
And it should not stand.
Regulation is necessary.
Eradication is not.
Minnesota’s model offers a path forward:
Ban youth-targeted products.
Ban unregulated synthetic conversions.
Enforce age restrictions.
Require third-party lab testing.
Mandate transparent labeling.
Support compliant farming.
Preserve adult choice.
This is how a functional democracy operates:
Local experience informing federal policy — not federal fiat erasing local success.
The future of Minnesota’s hemp-derived THC industry is not merely a question of commerce. It is a question of respect: for farmers, scientists, brewers, workers, consumers, and communities that invested in good faith.
If the federal government wants to close the loophole it created, it must do so through deliberation, evidence, and partnership — not with a last-minute amendment sewn into a crisis bill.
Minnesota has weathered storms of injustice.
It has weathered economic shocks.
It has weathered the long winters that shape our character.
It also built something careful, responsible, and hopeful.
Washington should not be the force that tears it down.
Because in Minnesota, we build for the long winter.
We build for our neighbors.
We build for the future.
And this industry deserves a future.