Debate over a harm reduction product used by millions of Americans as an alternative to illicit drugs is dredging up bad memories of GOP electoral lowlights regarding the proposed vaping (vape) bans of the past.
In an era when science, politics, and electoral consequences all intersect.
The intensifying debate surrounding a proposed ban on 7-hydroxymitragynine (7-OH), a key alkaloid in kratom relied on by millions for pain relief and opioid harm reduction, captures this dynamic perfectly.
For leaders like HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., FDA Commissioner Marty Makary, and state officials such as Fla. Atty. Gen. James Uthmeier and Gov. Mike DeWine, R-Ohio, this emerging controversy offers a pivotal moment to demonstrate scientific seriousness and political prudence.
But it also presents a real danger: if they mishandle regulating 7-OH in the way the federal government mishandled vaping regulation in 2019, they risk triggering the same kind of voter backlash which shook the GOP and nearly cost President Trump critical support.
The concerns behind the proposed 7-OH ban are understandable.
Anything tied to opioid withdrawal or chronic pain deserves scrutiny.
Yet the scientific record around 7-OH looks nothing like the substances at the center of past crises.
Current toxicology and public-health surveillance data has shown that there are no confirmed overdose deaths attributable solely to 7-OH, no clear evidence of respiratory depression, and no discernible pattern of abuse.
In short, there are responsible ways to regulate 7-OH without plunging the government into another prohibition disaster.
And this is where the political lesson of the vaping backlash becomes crucial.
In 2019, former HHS Secretary Alex Azar attempted a sweeping vape ban. His intentions may have been sincere, but the effect was catastrophic.
Millions of vapers — many of them former smokers who viewed vaping as a life-saving harm-reduction tool — erupted in protest.
They organized rallies, flooded congressional offices, and made themselves impossible to ignore.
Their rallying cry, "I Vape, I Vote," became one of the most unexpectedly potent grassroots slogans of the decade. Trump later admitted the mistake, acknowledging that the administration had underestimated both the size and intensity of the harm-reduction community.
The current push to classify 7-OH as a Schedule I drug is following the same hazardous trajectory. Millions of Americans rely on kratom and 7-OH for legitimate harm-reduction purposes: veterans with chronic pain, blue-collar workers avoiding opioid dependency, and recovering addicts staying clean.
These are politically aware individuals who fall comfortably under the category of "1-issue-voter."
RFK Jr. and Makary have a real opportunity to avoid Azar's mistake.
They have more credibility with skeptics of Big Pharma, more goodwill among libertarian-leaning health-freedom voters, and more room to take a balanced, science-driven stance. Instead of imposing a ban based on outdated scheduling frameworks designed for heroin and LSD, they can embrace a modern regulatory model: quality-control mandates, labeling rules, age restrictions, manufacturing oversight, and — crucially — expanded clinical research.
State officials would also benefit from recalibration.
In Florida, Atty. Gen. Uthmeier’s executive order banning 7-OH may have been motivated by public-health caution, but the absence of strong supporting evidence has raised concerns that the state is moving too aggressively.
In the Buckeye State, Gov. DeWine's push to schedule kratom compounds as illegal drugs rests more on hypothetical risks than documented harm.
Both leaders can still course-correct by championing rigorous studies, consumer education, and targeted regulation rather than outright prohibition.
Such an approach would not only reflect scientific prudence but also shield them from the political fallout that comes with alienating a committed constituency. Because the fallout is coming if prohibition continues.
Across the country, 7-OH and kratom users are already mobilizing around a new voting mantra: "7-OH, or We Vote No."
The parallels to 2019 are impossible to ignore. Azar's vape ban collapsed because the administration failed to anticipate the voting power of a motivated harm-reduction bloc.
In 2026, with margins expected to be razor-thin, Republicans cannot afford to repeat this mistake — especially on an issue that disproportionately affects the GOP coalition.
When voters feel their government is taking away the tools that keep them functional, productive, and alive, they do not sit by quietly.
They organize.
They vote.
And . . . they punish politicians who ignore them. But RFK Jr., Makary, Uthmeier, and DeWine still have time to avoid becoming the new faces of "I Vape, I Vote 2.0."
By choosing regulation over prohibition, evidence over panic, and research over reflexive scheduling, they can protect public health without provoking a political revolt.
They can show that they learned from 2019, not repeated it.
And they can preserve the trust of voters who expect thoughtful, not reactionary, governance.
If these leaders take the balanced path, they will strengthen both their credibility and their coalitions. If not, the political consequences may arrive faster — and more forcefully — than anyone expects.
Julio Rivera is a business and political strategist, cybersecurity researcher, founder of ItFunk.Org, and a political commentator and columnist. His writing, which is focused on cybersecurity and politics, is regularly published by many of the largest news organizations in the world. Read More of His Reports — Here.
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