So, I assume that those of you who believe the border patrol should have waved his bus through and ignored the odor coming from the bus is OK. That selective enforcement of the law is fine with you.
There's no need to get snippy about our opinions. They did what they had to do, but there's considerable leeway & discretion with what happens next. Selective enforcement is exactly what needs to happen next, and it's fine with me.
I also think there's no need to send a 77-year-old guy to a taxpayer-supported hotel. Make him spend a bunch of money on legal defense, plea bargain if he wants to, or humiliate and lecture him in court for a while, and make him pay for the whole show, and order him to drug rehab if deemed absolutely necessary. Otherwise give him Martha Stewart's ankle bracelet, send him home, and put the drug-enforcement effort somewhere more worthwhile like crystal meth or cocaine.
I've thrown a dozen sailors out of the military on drug charges. Earlier this year I spent two days of my life sitting in a courtroom to convict a guy of possession of a pipe containing 0.24 grams (yes, one twenty-fourth of one twenty-eighth of one ounce) of crystal meth. It took the legal system two years to get to that point, and I can only imagine the money spent on the salaries of the people who were called to testify on the arrest and the chain of custody, let alone on the defense.
By the end of the second day it had become apparent that the guy had seriously pissed off the police and the judicial system, although we jurors weren't made privy to the details, and this was all they had left to beat him up with. It was also apparent that he wasn't exactly a charter member of the Criminal Mastermind Club so I suspect some unfortunate series of events or a mistake almost let him off the hook.
Regardless we spent about an hour deliberating and convicting. I even had to volunteer to be foreman and nudge a few recalcitrants into choosing the appropriate vote. I've started up naval nuclear reactors with less paperwork than we went through in that jury room.
Then I got to go back into the courtroom and read the verdicts while his teenage daughter sobbed uncontrollably. It was kind of an interesting contrast to come home and have my teenage daughter ask "So, Dad, how was your day?"
I donated my juror pay to The Meth Project. The least Willie could do is throw a fund-raiser concert for a drug-rehab program.