A Brooklyn nonprofit founder embodies the intent of New York’s equity law – yet after three years, his dispensary remains closed.
By the time Shanduke McPhatter finished building out his cannabis dispensary in Brooklyn—after following every step the state laid out—New York had already opened hundreds of licensed adult-use stores.
His wasn’t one of them.
The floors were done. The space was compliant. The paperwork had been submitted. And every month, the rent kept burning. Nearly $250,000 so far. Nearly three years into New York’s social equity licensing process, McPhatter was still waiting to open a store the state had already told him he was qualified to run.
“Every single month,” he said, “you’re looking at that list, looking for your license to be on there. For three years, man. For three years.”
McPhatter is a Brooklyn-based community leader, a formerly incarcerated entrepreneur. He’s also the founder of G-MACC—short for Gangstas Making Astronomical Community Changes—a nonprofit focused on gun- and gang-violence interruption, reentry support, and community stabilization in neighborhoods most harmed by the war on drugs.
When New York launched its Conditional Adult-Use Retail Dispensary (CAURD) program, this is the kind of applicant it said it wanted to prioritize.
His doors are still closed.
Not an Abstract Equity Story
McPhatter’s relationship with cannabis predates legalization. It was part of his life long before the law caught up.
“I’m legacy,” he said. “Everybody says legacy, but everybody ain’t legacy.”
He grew up in Brooklyn and cycled through New York’s correctional system from his teens into his early thirties. During his final sentence, he began building what would become G-MACC, drawing on his own experience to help others avoid the same pipeline.
“Never got any opportunities, no programming, no mentors, nothing,” he said. “So when I finally made that shift, I knew it was time to change my life and prevent other children from being caught up in the system.”
The dispensary was meant to extend that work, creating revenue that didn’t depend on unpredictable funding cycles or political gatekeeping.
“I knew cannabis was the way,” he said. “This was how we could actually sustain what we were already doing.”
The Promise—and the Wait
McPhatter applied for a CAURD license. The state provisionally approved him and instructed him to move forward: secure a location, complete compliance steps, prepare for final licensure. He followed those instructions. Regulators later confirmed his Brooklyn location met all distance and proximity requirements.
And then the process stalled.
“Who’s accountable?” McPhatter asked. “Who’s not doing their job?”
As he waited, the financial pressure mounted. So did the frustration of watching the legal market expand without him.
McPhatter said the delay forced him to question how equity decisions were being made—and why applicants who met the original criteria were still waiting while the market expanded around them.
While the Market Moved On
As McPhatter waited, New York’s adult-use market didn’t.
More than 500 licensed dispensaries have opened statewide. Some operators have even moved on to second and third locations. Others have begun laying groundwork for franchises. The legal market expanded fast.
McPhatter watched those announcements roll in month after month, his own application still unresolved.
“You can’t imagine what it’s like seeing that list come out every month and your name never being on it,” he said.
He wasn’t asking to skip steps. He wasn’t asking for special treatment. He had already been provisionally approved. His location had already been cleared. The remaining question—final licensure—simply never arrived.
The Cost of Waiting
The delay wasn’t abstract.
McPhatter was carrying the cost of a fully built-out dispensary with no revenue to offset it. Rent continued. Capital stayed tied up. Planning stalled.
“I’m not rich,” he said. “We’re not wealthy people.”
For a nonprofit founder accustomed to making limited resources stretch, the strain was constant—and personal.
“If you’re supposed to be giving opportunity to the people who never had the opportunity,” he said, “why am I still waiting?”
The question wasn’t rhetorical. It was practical.
A System Under Strain
McPhatter’s experience unfolded during a turbulent period for New York’s Office of Cannabis Management. The agency has faced repeated lawsuits, court injunctions, and sustained criticism over the pace and execution of the state’s adult-use rollout.
Earlier this year, Governor Kathy Hochul requested the resignations of two top OCM officials amid mounting pressure over regulatory failures and enforcement missteps.
The state has acknowledged challenges. For applicants still waiting, acknowledgment hasn’t always translated into resolution.
What Equity Looks Like in Practice
McPhatter eventually decided to speak publicly—not to escalate conflict, but to force clarity.
“How long do you remain quiet to oppression?” he said. “I’ve always been about fighting against it, and this feels oppressive.”
He is naturally frustrated about his store and yet something much bigger. What happens when a system designed to repair harm leaves its most aligned participants in limbo?
McPhatter continues to do the work he’s always done by supporting reentry, mentoring youth, and stabilizing his community. The dispensary was meant to strengthen that work, not replace it.
New York promised equity would be more than a slogan.
For Shanduke McPhatter, that promise is still waiting to be fulfilled.
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
