Why Psychedelics Are Illegal in the U.S. - The Truth and History of the Matter
by Katie Simons, PharmD, BCPS
Psychedelics. The word alone evokes a kaleidoscope of reactions—curiosity, fear, reverence, skepticism. It is a polarizing topic, to say the least. I always know what to expect when someone asks me what I do…“Well, I’m a pharmacist with a coaching and consulting business aimed at helping people rediscover their empowered self, taper off prescription medications, and use psychedelics safely and effectively.” I either get bombarded with enthusiastic questions or I hear crickets as I gaze into a puzzled and slightly spooked stare. But peel back the layers of stigma, and what you find is a story of missed opportunities, political agendas, and a scientific renaissance long overdue.
Before the term "War on Drugs" entered the lexicon, psychedelics were neither demonized nor dismissed. They were celebrated for their potential to heal, to expand the mind, and to offer insight into the human condition. Indigenous cultures revered them as sacred medicines; Western scientists heralded them as groundbreaking therapeutic tools. Yet today, substances like LSD, psilocybin, mescaline, and MDMA are still classified as Schedule I drugs—lumped in with heroin—as having "no accepted medical use" and a "high potential for abuse."
The irony? Modern research has turned these claims on their heads. Studies now show that psychedelics can treat depression, PTSD, addiction, and even existential anxiety in ways traditional therapies cannot. So how did we get here? How did these once-celebrated substances go from being the darlings of scientific exploration to the scapegoats of a misguided drug war? And why are we still fighting this issue today?
To understand why psychedelics are illegal today, we must start with their journey before the ban—when these substances were studied and integrated into healing practices. Only then can we unravel the political and cultural forces that criminalized them, examine the contradictions in their prohibition, and question what it will take to undo decades of misinformation.
Before the Ban: The Discovery and Early Promise of Psychedelics
Let’s start back before the Controlled Substance Act of 1970, before the War on Drugs. The history of each classic psychedelic substance contains a story that can bring clarity to the fear surrounding these substances and how that stigma got there in the first place. Their stories weave together threads of ancient wisdom, scientific curiosity, and groundbreaking therapeutic potential.
Psilocybin: From Sacred to Scientific
For centuries, Indigenous cultures in Mesoamerica have turned to psilocybin-containing mushrooms as sacred medicines. These mushrooms were used in healing ceremonies to connect with the divine, explore inner worlds, and bring balance to the soul. The spiritual and therapeutic use of psilocybin is deeply rooted in Indigenous traditions, particularly those of the Mazatec people in Oaxaca, Mexico, where they are known as “niños santos” (little saints).
María Sabina, a revered Mazatec curandera (healer), played a pivotal role in bridging this ancient wisdom with Western scientific exploration. In 1955, R. Gordon Wasson, a banker-turned-mycologist, traveled to Huautla de Jiménez, where María Sabina allowed him to participate in a velada —a ceremonial mushroom session. Wasson’s experience was transformative and became the basis for his 1957 article in Life magazine, which introduced psilocybin mushrooms to Western audiences. While this brought global attention to psilocybin, it also disrupted the Mazatec community and brought challenges to María Sabina’s life, underscoring the complex dynamics of cultural exchange and appropriation.
Inspired by Wasson’s account, Swiss chemist Albert Hofmann—best known for synthesizing LSD—isolated psilocybin and psilocin in 1958. These compounds became available to researchers, sparking a wave of studies in the 1960s exploring their effects on the mind. Early research showed psilocybin’s potential to treat conditions like depression, anxiety, and addiction, with participants often reporting profound shifts in perspective and emotional well-being. Psychedelic therapy sessions with psilocybin frequently led to experiences described as mystical or transcendent, with lasting positive effects on mental health.
However, as psilocybin gained popularity, it became inextricably linked with the counterculture movement of the 1960s. Stories of rebellious youths tripping on mushrooms and questioning authority alarmed conservative politicians and the public alike. The backlash culminated in the Controlled Substances Act of 1970, which classified psilocybin as a Schedule I substance—claiming it had no accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse. This legal status effectively silenced psilocybin research for decades.
Despite its prohibition, psilocybin’s reputation as a healing tool never fully disappeared. In the 2000s, researchers reignited interest in its therapeutic potential, conducting rigorous studies at institutions like Johns Hopkins University. These studies revealed that psilocybin could catalyze profound personal insights, reduce symptoms of depression and anxiety, and help patients with terminal illnesses confront the fear of death. Unlike traditional treatments, psilocybin often required only a few sessions to produce long-lasting benefits.
Today, psilocybin stands at the forefront of the psychedelic renaissance, with decriminalization efforts in cities like Denver and states like Oregon reflecting a shift in public perception. Its journey from sacred medicine to outlawed substance and back to scientific exploration highlights its enduring significance—and the importance of honoring the Indigenous traditions that first revealed its power.
LSD: A "Problem Child" with Potential
Albert Hofmann, a Swiss chemist with a knack for unraveling nature's mysteries, is a name forever linked to LSD. Before isolating psilocybin’s active compounds in the late 1950s, Hofmann had already cemented his place in psychedelic history. It was his earlier work that truly unleashed a cultural and scientific revolution. In 1938, while working for the pharmaceutical company Sandoz, Hofmann first synthesized lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD-25) while investigating ergot alkaloids for potential medicinal uses.
Initially, LSD seemed to be just another lab compound, shelved for being "unremarkable." It wasn’t until 1943 that Hofmann decided to revisit it, spurred by what he later described as a “peculiar presentiment.” This curiosity led to one of the most famous accidental discoveries in history. After unintentionally absorbing a small amount of LSD through his skin, Hofmann experienced vivid sensations and changes in perception. Intrigued, he conducted a deliberate self-experiment a few days later, ingesting 250 micrograms—a dose he thought minuscule—and embarked on the now-legendary "Bicycle Day" ride home, where the world transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns.
Following this discovery, Sandoz recognized LSD’s potential and began distributing it under the trade name Delysid for psychiatric research and therapeutic use. Throughout the 1950s and early 1960s, therapists around the world explored its applications, using LSD to treat alcoholism, depression, anxiety, and even existential distress in terminally ill patients. Early studies showed astonishing results, particularly in helping patients access repressed emotions and confront unresolved trauma. Researchers marveled at LSD’s ability to dissolve the ego defenses, facilitate emotional catharsis, and open doors to profound self-awareness.
Despite its promising start, LSD’s growing association with countercultural movements and anti-establishment sentiments sparked a backlash. By the late 1960s, images of hippies and anti-war protesters tripping on LSD overshadowed its scientific promise. The media painted it as a dangerous drug that could cause psychosis and lead to societal collapse, fueling public fear. This shift in perception set the stage for its criminalization in the U.S. under the Controlled Substances Act of 1970, effectively halting research for decades.
While LSD became a symbol of rebellion and cultural upheaval, its roots in scientific inquiry and therapeutic innovation remain undeniable. Albert Hofmann himself referred to LSD as his “problem child”—a compound of immense potential, misunderstood and misused, but still holding the power to heal when approached with care and intention.
MDMA: The Love Drug Goes to Therapy
MDMA had an unassuming start when it was first synthesized by the German pharmaceutical company Merck in 1912. Merck wasn’t looking for a miracle drug—they were trying to develop a compound to control bleeding, and MDMA was a chemical intermediary that never made it to market. For decades, MDMA remained a forgotten footnote in pharmaceutical history, until it was rediscovered and repurposed in the 1970s by psychotherapists exploring its unique ability to enhance emotional openness and connection.
In the hands of therapists like Leo Zeff, MDMA became a powerful tool for unlocking communication in therapy sessions. Zeff, a psychologist who specialized in altered states of consciousness, was so impressed by MDMA’s effects that he came out of retirement to train hundreds of other therapists in its use. Dubbed “Adam” for its Edenic effect on interpersonal connections and ability to return people to a pure, open, and unguarded emotional state, MDMA’s popularity in therapeutic circles surged, especially for couples therapy and trauma work.
By the early 1980s, however, MDMA began to spread beyond therapy circles and into recreational use, where it gained the street name “Ecstasy.” Its popularity at dance clubs and raves attracted attention from law enforcement and the media, which sensationalized its risks and painted it as a dangerous party drug. In 1985, amid growing moral panic and limited scientific understanding, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) classified MDMA as a Schedule I substance—claiming it had no accepted medical use and a high potential for abuse.
This move effectively drove MDMA underground, stalling therapeutic research for decades. However, in the early 2000s, organizations like the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) began advocating for its re-evaluation. Today, MDMA is undergoing a renaissance in clinical research, particularly in the treatment of PTSD. Studies have shown remarkable success rates, with participants reporting profound and lasting relief after just a few guided sessions. Once dismissed as a party drug, MDMA is reclaiming its place as a powerful ally in emotional healing and trauma resolution.
In August 2024, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) rejected an application by Lykos Therapeutics to approve MDMA-assisted therapy for PTSD, citing "significant limitations" that prevented the agency from concluding the treatment's safety and efficacy. This decision followed earlier controversies, including allegations of ethical misconduct during clinical trials and concerns about data integrity. The FDA's request for additional Phase III trials has been met with disappointment by advocates, who view MDMA-assisted therapy as a promising alternative for treatment-resistant PTSD. Despite these setbacks, the pursuit of MDMA's medical potential continues, with ongoing research aiming to address regulatory concerns and validate its therapeutic benefits.
Mescaline: The First Psychedelic in Western Labs
Mescaline, a naturally occurring psychedelic compound, has been used for thousands of years by Indigenous peoples in North and Central America. Found in cacti such as peyote (Lophophora williamsii) and San Pedro (Echinopsis pachanoi), mescaline plays a central role in the spiritual practices of Native American tribes and Andean cultures. The peyote ceremony, in particular, is a sacred tradition among the Native American Church, blending prayer, storytelling, and introspection to foster healing and spiritual connection.
Mescaline was the first psychedelic to be chemically isolated and studied in the West. In 1897, German chemist Arthur Heffter identified mescaline as the active compound in peyote, marking a major milestone in pharmacology. This discovery set the stage for early 20th-century experiments that sought to understand its effects on the human psyche. By the 1920s and 30s, scientists in Europe and North America were conducting self-experiments with mescaline, documenting altered states of consciousness, enhanced perception, and the profound sense of interconnectedness often described during these experiences.
Aldous Huxley’s 1954 book The Doors of Perception brought mescaline into mainstream Western awareness. Based on his own mescaline experience, Huxley described the substance as a tool for breaking free from the “filters” of ordinary perception, allowing one to see the world in its raw, unmediated beauty. His writing influenced a generation of thinkers, artists, and researchers, sparking interest in psychedelics as a way to explore the nature of consciousness itself.
In the mid-20th century, mescaline also gained attention in psychiatry. Researchers explored its potential to model psychotic states and facilitate psychotherapy. Unlike LSD, which produces a more intense and often unpredictable experience, mescaline’s effects were considered gentler and more introspective, making it a promising tool for psychological exploration.
However, mescaline’s ties to Indigenous traditions made it a target of colonialist attitudes and cultural suppression. Efforts to outlaw peyote use in the United States date back to the late 19th century, with legal battles continuing well into the 20th century. When mescaline was classified as a Schedule I substance under the Controlled Substances Act of 1970, it effectively ended Western scientific research into its potential benefits.
Despite its prohibition, peyote use remains legally protected for members of the Native American Church (NAC) under the American Indian Religious Freedom Act (AIRFA) of 1978 and its 1994 amendments. These laws safeguard the ceremonial use of peyote as a vital component of Native American spiritual and cultural identity. This legal protection recognizes peyote’s profound spiritual significance and ensures that Indigenous communities can continue their sacred practices without fear of prosecution.
Today, mescaline remains an important sacrament for Native American and Andean communities, and its traditional use is protected in some contexts like those outlined by AIRFA. Modern interest in mescaline is resurging as part of the broader psychedelic renaissance, with renewed research exploring its therapeutic potential for conditions such as addiction and depression. As mescaline re-enters the scientific and cultural conversation, it’s crucial to recognize and honor its deep roots in Indigenous wisdom and ceremony, where its true power has always been known.
The Politics of Psychedelic Prohibition: From Promise to Punishment
A striking theme emerges when examining the histories of psilocybin, LSD, MDMA, and mescaline: their early promise as tools for healing and scientific exploration was overshadowed by political agendas, cultural fear, and moral panic. I remember when I was first introduced to the idea of psychedelics back in 2008. Confusion and fear dominated my perception of them—thanks, in part, to some wildly inaccurate warnings. A pharmacy school friend literally told me, with absolute certainty, that if I tried “acid” (LSD), it would eat my brain. “That’s why they call it acid, duh.” Yikes, right? Don’t worry, acid did not, in fact, eat my brain — at least not in the way my friend was worried about. But statements like these weren’t just uninformed—they were echoes of decades of fear-mongering and misinformation. Despite their potential to expand consciousness and treat some of humanity’s most persistent mental health challenges, these substances became scapegoats in a broader cultural and political war. Let’s take a look at what exactly happened.
By the late 1960s, the counterculture movement was in full swing, challenging societal norms and authority. Psychedelics were inseparable from this cultural revolution. Psilocybin and LSD (and cannabis) were associated with the hippie movement, anti-war protests, and a growing demand for personal and societal liberation. MDMA was gaining traction as a tool for emotional healing and connection, though it was still flying under the radar of mainstream culture. Mescaline, with its deep Indigenous roots, became a target of longstanding colonialist suppression.
Against this backdrop, President Richard Nixon and his administration declared the infamous “War on Drugs” in 1971. Far from being a public health initiative, this campaign was a calculated political strategy. As former Nixon advisor John Ehrlichman later revealed to journalist Dan Baum in a 1994 interview published in Harper's Magazine:
“The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and Black people. You understand what I’m saying? We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or Black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and Blacks with heroin, and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.”
This admission lays bare the political motivations behind the War on Drugs, a campaign that weaponized drug policy to target dissenting voices and marginalized communities. Psychedelics, with their ties to the counterculture and their potential to foster independent thought, became collateral damage in this political maneuvering.
The Controlled Substances Act (CSA) of 1970 was the sledgehammer of this campaign. Under the CSA, psilocybin, LSD, mescaline, and later MDMA were classified as Schedule I substances—the most restrictive category—claiming these substances had a high potential for abuse, no accepted medical use, and a lack of safety even under medical supervision. This categorization not only halted promising research but also stigmatized these substances for decades, cementing them as symbols of rebellion and danger.
Beyond criminalizing substances, the CSA dramatically expanded the government’s power. It granted the newly formed Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) sweeping authority, including the ability to seize property—homes, cars, cash, and more—believed to be connected to drug activity, often without requiring charges or convictions. Civil asset forfeiture, as it’s called, became a lucrative tool for law enforcement, incentivizing raids and crackdowns. These policies disproportionately targeted marginalized communities, stripping people of their property and livelihoods based on suspicion alone.
The CSA also entrenched mandatory minimum sentencing for drug offenses, filling prisons with non-violent offenders and fueling the rise of mass incarceration. In tandem with media-fueled scare campaigns, the law created an environment where fear and punishment replaced curiosity and exploration. The cultural and scientific curiosity surrounding psychedelics in the 1950s and 60s gave way to draconian enforcement, silencing conversations about their potential benefits.
Nixon’s War on Drugs wasn’t just about substances—it was about control. It became a cultural weapon wielded to suppress dissent, reinforce racial hierarchies, and consolidate political power. Ironically, during this crackdown on “illicit” substances, Purdue Pharma—owned by the Sackler family—was developing and later aggressively marketing OxyContin, a highly addictive opioid they knew posed significant risks. By prioritizing profits over public health, Purdue fueled one of the deadliest and most enduring drug crises in U.S. history. While the full story of Big Pharma’s role in this crisis is a topic for another day, it underscores a bitter truth: the real drug epidemic in the U.S. was manufactured by corporate greed, not illegalized substances. Yet, despite the political winds having shifted since the War on Drugs, the CSA’s framework remains in place, tethering psychedelics to outdated narratives that ignore their proven therapeutic and transformative potential.
So What About the “Casualties”?
While the promise of psychedelics is undeniable, history has also left us with cautionary tales. In the 1970s, as the use of psychedelics like LSD surged, so too did reports of individuals who struggled with adverse effects, earning them the label “acid casualties.” This term described people who were believed to have “burned out” after frequent, high-dose, or reckless use of psychedelics, particularly LSD. These individuals often exhibited signs of psychological instability, social withdrawal, or difficulty reintegrating into everyday life, and they became emblematic of the perceived dangers of the psychedelic counterculture.
The behaviors leading to such outcomes often included taking psychedelics in uncontrolled settings, using excessively high doses, or tripping repeatedly without time for integration or rest. While the allure of exploring altered states was strong, the lack of guidance or structure sometimes left users vulnerable to overwhelming experiences they couldn’t process. Stories of “flashbacks” (later clinically identified as Hallucinogen Persisting Perception Disorder, or HPPD) and tales of people “losing their minds” added to the growing fear and stigma around psychedelics, contributing to their prohibition.
However, it’s crucial to recognize that these casualties were not the inevitable result of psychedelic use itself but of how these substances were approached. The 1970s saw widespread experimentation, often untethered from the respect, intention, and preparation that Indigenous cultures had long emphasized in their ceremonial use of psychedelics. Where Indigenous traditions carefully guided participants through meaningful, sacred experiences, the Western counterculture often lacked these guardrails.
This history highlights an essential truth: psychedelics are powerful tools, but like any tool, their outcomes depend on how they are used. Reckless use can lead to harm, while respectful, intentional use—grounded in preparation, guidance, and, especially, integration—can unlock profound healing and transformation.
As we navigate the modern psychedelic renaissance, it’s vital to learn from the past. The casualties of the 1970s serve as reminders to approach these substances with care, ensuring that the pursuit of expanded consciousness is paired with structure, support, and intention. By doing so, we can avoid repeating history and instead focus on realizing the full potential of psychedelics as allies in healing.
Current Shifts and Advocacy for Psychedelics
Why are these substances still illegal? With decades of research now confirming the therapeutic potential of psychedelics like psilocybin, LSD, MDMA, and mescaline, the question looms large. The classification of these substances as Schedule I drugs—implying high potential for abuse, no accepted medical use, and lack of safety under medical supervision—is a relic of a politically motivated past, not a reflection of current scientific understanding.
Adding to the scientific evidence are thousands of personal accounts and anecdotes from individuals who have experienced profound healing through psychedelics, many of which have been collected and shared by figures like Paul Stamets with psilocybin users. From veterans overcoming PTSD with psilocybin to individuals breaking free from addiction with ayahuasca, these stories form a collective narrative of transformation. While it’s true that the 1970s saw its share of recreational use of psychedelics (no judgement - there’s a space for this too as long as it’s not reckless), many of these anecdotes reflect thoughtful, intentional journeys toward healing, meaning, and connection. Even outside clinical settings, these personal experiences point to the remarkable ability of psychedelics to catalyze lasting emotional and spiritual growth.
The persistence of prohibition is tied to inertia in policy, deeply entrenched stigma, and the legacy of the War on Drugs. Psychedelics are still viewed by some as dangerous relics of the counterculture era, and fear-based narratives from the 1960s and 70s continue to influence public perception. Additionally, legalizing or rescheduling these substances poses challenges for regulatory bodies, who believe they must navigate how to integrate psychedelics into medical and therapeutic frameworks while addressing concerns about misuse.
It’s worth asking, why do psychedelics require modern regulation and protocolization to be accessible? Indigenous cultures have used these substances responsibly for centuries in ceremonial or spiritual contexts. Traditions such as the peyote ceremony among Native American tribes, ayahuasca rituals in the Amazon, and psilocybin mushroom ceremonies led by Mazatec healers show how these substances can be used safely when approached with intention, community, and respect. These practices are a powerful reminder that meaningful use of psychedelics doesn’t inherently require government oversight but rather guidance and reverence. (For more on this topic, refer to the article on Decriminalization vs Legalization).
Meanwhile, a stark comparison looms: alcohol. Despite being one of the most dangerous substances in terms of societal harm—linked to addiction, liver disease, impaired judgment, and countless accidents—it remains fully legal, regulated, and culturally celebrated. Psychedelics, on the other hand, have negligible addiction potential and overwhelmingly positive therapeutic outcomes when used responsibly. Yet, alcohol is normalized, while psychedelics are demonized. The contrast raises uncomfortable questions about how societal values shape drug policy. Are we only looking for escapism or do we value healing and growth as a society?
Advocacy groups have been pivotal in challenging these contradictions. Organizations like the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS) and the Beckley Foundation have tirelessly funded research, lobbied for policy reform, and educated the public about the benefits of psychedelics. Their efforts are beginning to pay off: in 2020, Oregon became the first state to legalize psilocybin therapy, and Colorado followed in 2022 with the decriminalization of psilocybin and other plant-based psychedelics while creating frameworks for their regulated use.
This shift in policy reflects a growing recognition that the risks of psychedelics have been overstated while their benefits have been systematically ignored. Groundbreaking research at institutions like Johns Hopkins University, Imperial College London, and MAPS has demonstrated their profound potential to treat conditions like PTSD, depression, anxiety, and addiction. Studies show that these substances, when used in controlled, therapeutic settings, can catalyze transformative healing experiences with minimal risks of addiction or harm.
Still, the question remains: how long will it take for federal policy to catch up with science? And how many more people will be denied potentially life-saving treatments in the meantime?
A Call for Re-Evaluation
It’s time to re-evaluate not just the legal status of psychedelics, but the cultural fears and resistances that have kept these substances in the shadows for decades. The stories of psilocybin, LSD, MDMA, and mescaline are not just about politics or prohibition—they are about the human tendency to fear what we don’t understand and to suppress what challenges the status quo.
The cultural narratives that paint psychedelics as dangerous or frivolous ignore a deeper truth: these substances have been used for centuries, and in some cases millennia, to heal, connect, and expand the boundaries of human consciousness. The resurgence of scientific research has brought us full circle, reaffirming what Indigenous traditions have known all along—when approached with respect, intention, and guidance, psychedelics can be powerful allies in addressing some of humanity’s greatest challenges.
Yet, fear remains. Fear of losing control. Fear of change. Fear of confronting the unknown parts of ourselves. These fears are not unfounded—psychedelics demand respect and self-awareness. But they also demand that we challenge the systems and narratives that have denied their potential for far too long.
The re-evaluation cannot wait for the law - and it hasn’t. The way we talk about psychedelics, the way we teach their history, and the way we invite them into our collective future has already begun to shift in a large way. We must continue by questioning outdated policies, but also rethinking the stigmas that label those who explore these substances as irresponsible or rebellious.
As psychedelics begin to re-enter mainstream culture, the opportunity lies not just in unlocking their therapeutic potential, but in healing our collective relationship with them. The conversation is no longer just about legalization—it’s about reconciliation. Reconciliation with the traditions that first brought these substances to light. Reconciliation with the harm caused by decades of misinformation. And perhaps most importantly, reconciliation with the idea that growth and transformation often require us to step into the unknown.
The question is not just whether we are ready to reschedule psychedelics, but whether we are ready to face the fears that have kept them hidden. Are we willing to embrace the potential for healing, even if it challenges our preconceptions? Are we ready to integrate these substances into our communities with the reverence and responsibility they deserve? The answer lies not just in policy reform, but in a cultural shift—a collective decision to move beyond fear and into curiosity, connection, and growth.
Join me in the continuation of this conversation in Decriminalization vs Legalization
