Walking across the campus of the University of Michigan, it's not out of the ordinary to see large groups gathered on the Diag¹ to hear political speakers. The number of street vendors on the first Saturday in April might seem slightly odd, especially when their wares consist of ceramic and iridescent glass pipes, the kind that no one really uses for tobacco. But the thing that will definitely catch your attention at noontime is the smell of pot wafting out of the crowd in spite of the police presence all around.

To locals, it's just another Hash Bash. This annual 'smoke-in' began in 1972 to protest marijuana laws. Ideally, the Hash Bash takes place at high noon (get it?) of April Fool's Day. But if the first lands on a weekday, the planners yield to practicality and schedule the event on the first Saturday of the month to draw larger crowds.

Many years of minor lawsuits between protest groups and University of Michigan officials have resulted in a predictable pattern. The University agrees to rent public announcement equipment for precisely one hour, noon to one PM. The power is then shut off while speakers try to hold the crowd's attention longer.

The event has been as flighty and unstable as you would expect of anything organized by and for pot-smokers. Some years attendance has run to the thousands. Some years it's been almost non-existent. In fact, they may have skipped a few years. Hard to find much of an historical record for some reason. As if the memories of those people who know best about the event had been damaged or slightly fogged by something. They've had bands some years, and semi-famous speakers or singers some years, like that guy who wrote the song "Legalize Marijuana," what's his name?²

How to pay a smaller fine and avoid getting arrested

Your best bet would be to avoid smoking anything illegal at the Hash Bash. A few brave or ignorant souls pass joints around the middle of the crowd every year, but uniform police do patrol around the outskirts. Plainclothes police supposedly mill about in the middle of the crowds watching for criminals. But there is an uneasy tension between the crowds of three hundred or seven hundred or two thousand, patrolled by maybe thirty cops. The sheer weight of numbers emboldens people.

Anyhow, there's an odd quirk of jurisdiction whereby State laws are followed on the property of the University of Michigan. Being caught on the Diag could get you 0-90 days in jail and $100 fine³, if you aren't holding a big full baggie. But if you walk off the Diag onto a city street, you enter Ann Arbor city jurisdiction where possession of one joint is only a 'civil infraction' carrying a $50 fine.

Less obvious things to do at Hash Bash

Not in the market for a two-foot tall, ceramic dragon bong? Hash Bash offers plenty of activities for those of us who don't 'partake.'

1. Listening to Guest Speakers.

During that crucial first hour, you're likely to hear from one member of the editorial staff of High Times magazine, one representative of NORML (National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), two radical politicians in favor of legalizing, and at least one person with a major disease who controls some of her symptoms by smoking pot. Occasionally some group will pay to fly Tommy Chong⁴ to Ann Arbor. The one hour limit imposed by the University is just as well -- you couldn't expect much more than an hour long attention span from these crowds.

2. People-watching.

By April first, the long, harsh Michigan winter is over. Young revelers feel the first hints of summer and shed several layers of clothes. Mostly nubile college students. And even if your hormones aren't fluttering about like the returning robins, it's fun to see all the punks and hippies and weirdos who turn out with their most dazzling plumage, tall green and red mohawks, t-shirts freshly tie-dyed, brightly polished spikes and rings poking through their lips and eyebrows and nasal septa.

3. Drum circles.

Some years, the beat waits anxiously for the P/A to shut off at one o'clock. Other years, the beat starts early and plays late. Dozens of people every year bring congas, bass drums, bongos, drums of all sizes and nationalities, flutes, ocarinas, didgeridoos. The drum circle is a living entity that evolves throughout the day, growing as more participants join. The crowd pushes close to the drummers to better feel the beat. The beat grows and fades and shifts as drummers emphasize different rhythms. Only when your shoulders start to ache and your forehead tingles from sunburn will you realize that you've been hypnotized, listening and watching them for five hours.

4. Watching people in the drum circles.

Did I mention the hippie chicks? As soon as the drumming begins, there's always one woman who flings herself into the group of drummers as if possessed, dancing for hours, flailing and sweating and tripping over drummers. This territory is often a crossover where hippie culture meets Hare Krishna culture. Some drummers dress to match their exotic drums, in robes and rags and sarongs. Wondering how to get Caucasian hair to form dreads? Ask one of these dudes next year. And sometimes old homeless men will join in the dance, although it's not always easy to distinguish between homeless people and hippies based on their clothes.

5. Posing for news photographers.

Detroit must not have enough freaks of its own, because they always send photographers and news crews to film people at Hash Bash, and to check how many arrests are made this year. If it's a slow news day, you may spot yourself later on the local TV news. Don't count on being in the foreground of any footage or photos unless you get arrested or have a bone through your ear, or unless you're a nubile hippie chick thrashing through a drum circle.

6. Dissing the crass commercialism of recent years.

Hawaiian leis in the form of plastic pot leaves. Endless designs of t-shirts celebrating the hookah-smoking caterpillar of Alice in Wonderland, or comic strip characters like Charlie Brown or Calvin & Hobbes toking up, turning blue and sprouting dreadlocks. Sidewalk displays in front of every book store, head shop, in fact, every store within three blocks of the epicenter. Complaining about all this capitalism is the activity to engage in as you walk back to the parking structure, past all the silly baubles, as if you never bought them in the past⁵, and as if you could keep yourself away, no matter how many more vendors will be hawking their stuff next year.