‘My own country had pardoned me but that didn’t matter. They told the federal government of the United States of America not to forget’
Robyn Jones* was 17 years old when she was charged with a cannabis offence that would follow her for the rest of her life.
In 1981, Jones was sitting at a picnic table in the smoking section outside of a bar and restaurant in Barrie, Ont., picking out the sticks and stems of an ounce she’d recently purchased. She had just started rolling a joint when a police officer rolled up.
It was her first brush with the law, and it resulted in Jones being fined around $250, money she had to borrow from her brother to prevent her parents from finding out.
Seven years later, she applied for and was granted a record suspension, or pardon, from the RCMP. She avoided any further interaction with the law and mostly forgot about it, until 33 years later, when she attempted to enter the U.S.
Jones recalls being “super happy” after she received the pardon, confident that the charge was now behind her.
“I forgot about it from that time on, I thought I’d never have to worry about it again,” she says.
For several decades she travelled freely, crossing the U.S. border dozens of times, but in 2013, having recently completed a divorce, Jones acquired a new 10-year passport with her maiden name, the same name she was charged under.
With the new passport in hand, Jones was on her way to Florida with her family when they were referred to secondary inspection at the Niagara Falls border crossing.
As they waited, Jones began thinking that her son, who was in the bathroom throwing up, must have done something. She began making plans for how to get him home safely. Then the border agents called her name.
Jones was brought into a private room where she was joined by a border agent. She recalls the conversation unfolding as follows:
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
Silence lingers as the border agent stares at her.
“Oh, wait a minute. Yeah. I mean, 30-something years ago.”
“What were you arrested for?”
“It was pot. But it’s been pardoned. Are you kidding me?”
They were not kidding.
Jones says she remained in the room for about two and a half hours as the agent requested detailed information about the last 30 years of her life, including her employment history and the names, ages and addresses of her six children. Afterward, she was fingerprinted and had her photos taken.
“My own country had pardoned me for this but that didn’t matter,” she says. “They told the federal government of the United States of America not to forget. They hold on to that information.”
After much deliberation, Jones was allowed to temporarily enter the U.S. as she had a plane ticket indicating she had to be back in Toronto in two weeks to fly to France, where she was living at the time.
It was then that her brand new 10-year passport, which Jones still uses, received its first stamp.
“They ended up stapling a piece of paper in there that I had to get in and out of the country in that two-week time period and a big stamp that says ‘Paroled.’ That was my first stamp.”
Jones later attempted to clear her name again. She returned to the police station in Ontario, but no record of her charge could be found. She poured over paperwork and filled out documents that…
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