Hemp for health: a historical perspective on the marketing of cannabis-based foods in Sweden

Abstract

Purpose

The purpose of this paper is to provide the first comprehensive examination of the early cannabis-based food products industry, using Sweden as a case study. Drawing upon historical newspaper articles and advertisements from the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive, the authors trace the short-lived development of the industry, from the initial exploitation of fears of tuberculosis in the late 19th century, followed by the “boom” in hempseed extract products and the widening of its claimed effects and, finally, increased skepticism and critiques of such products across the popular press in the early 20th century.

Design/methodology/approach

A rigorous search of the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive was conducted to gather newspaper articles and advertisements on cannabis-based foods. The collected resources were scrutinized using critical discourse analysis to tease out key discourses at work, particularly around the concepts of health, nutrition and science.

Findings

The authors find that central to the marketization of cannabis-based foods was the construction of disease based on scientific and medical discourse, fearmongering to create a strong consumer base and individualization to place responsibility on consumers to take action to protect their family’s health. This demonstrates not only the long historical relationship between science and food marketing but also how brands’ health claims could often be fraudulent or overstated.

Originality/value

It is important to cast a historical lens on the commercialization of cannabis-based food products because demand for similar types of products has rapidly grown over the past decade. Now, just as before, manufacturers tap into consumers’ insecurities about health, and many of the same questions continue to be mooted about products’ safety. Paying greater attention to the broader and problematic history of commercial cannabis can, thus, serve as a reminder for both consumers and policymakers to think twice about whether hemp really is for health and if the claims it espouses are a mirage rather than a miracle.

Citation

Runefelt, L. and O’Hagan, L.A. (2024), "Hemp for health: a historical perspective on the marketing of cannabis-based foods in Sweden", Journal of Historical Research in Marketing, Vol. ahead-of-print No. ahead-of-print. https://doi.org/10.1108/JHRM-01-2024-0002

Introduction

For the past two decades, there has been a renewed and growing interest in the therapeutic potential of cannabis. Since the launch of the world’s first prescription cannabis medicine in 2010, this interest has developed into an entire commercial industry, with dozens of cannabidiol (CBD) products now available on the market, from juice and coffee to truffles and ice cream (Bhamra et al., 2021). Often described as “the wonder drug of our age”(Lewis, 2019), CBD is considered to have medicinal properties that can help treat a wide range of conditions, including anxiety, insomnia, multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s disease, diabetes and arthritis, without intoxication [1]. Yet, as CBD products are framed as “nutraceuticals” rather than “pharmaceuticals”, they are neither subjected to clinical trials nor randomized, double-blind assessments and their safety or purity is not regulated (Grinspoon, 2023). This has raised issues about their potential health risks, particularly in terms of adverse drug interactions, liver toxicity and reproductive and developmental effects (Hazekamp, 2018). However, this is not the first time that food products derived from the cannabis plant have caught the public’s attention, attracting both admiration and criticism in equal measure. In fact, cannabis-based food products have a long and troubled history dating back to the late 19th century.

Cannabis was first introduced into Western medicine in the 1830s by Irish physician William Brooke O’Shaughnessy, who found that the substance could successfully treat muscle spasms and stomach cramps (Fankhauser, 2010). Its status as a “wonder drug” was furthered by French psychiatrist Jacques-Joseph Moreau, who studied the use of cannabis to treat mental illness. Encouraged by these findings, many 19th-century Western physicians began to recommend cannabis for therapeutic purposes. The general medical endorsement of cannabis was swiftly latched onto by the patent medicine industry, with manufacturers adding the substance to their products and claiming that it could cure all manner of diseases (Hodgson, 2001).

It was not long before cannabis became taken up by the food industry, which saw lucrative opportunities for commercialization. Sweden was a particular trailblazer in this area, with a hempseed extract being launched onto the market as early as 1891. This was closely followed by competitors such as J.L. Hedin and Red Cross who also released products made of hempseed extract. Aided by the lack of legislation for both food and pharmaceutical marketing in Sweden at this time, these brands promoted their foods as essential health-giving elixirs, first in relation to tuberculosis, but soon for lesser chest problems and general physical weakness. Yet, by the mid-1910s, they had largely disappeared from the market, as greater attempts were made to regulate and clamp down on false advertising.

This paper offers the first comprehensive examination of the rise and fall of the early cannabis-based food products industry, using Sweden as a case study. Drawing upon a large data set of historical newspaper articles and advertisements from the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive, we use critical discourse analysis (Machin and Mayr, 2012) to trace the short-lived development of the industry, from the initial exploitation of fears of tuberculosis in the late 19th century, followed by the “boom” in hempseed extract products and the widening of its claimed effects and, finally, increased skepticism and critiques of such products across the popular press in the early 20th century. Critical discourse analysis is concerned with how power is transmitted and practiced through discourse and seeks to demonstrate how certain linguistic and visual strategies are used to foreground, abstract or conceal particularly identities, ideas and values, thereby pointing to their broader ideological and political consequences (Machin, 2013, p. 35). Here, critical discourse analysis helps uncover three aspects that were central to the marketization of cannabis-based food products: the construction of disease based on scientific and medical discourse, fearmongering to create a strong consumer base and individualization to place responsibility on consumers (especially mothers) to take action to protect their family’s health. We end by drawing comparisons with the contemporary CBD fad and emphasize the need to reflect more critically on claims put forward by such products and gain a deeper understanding of how their advertisements are mobilized by those in positions of power for their own personal agendas.

While there is a wide range of research on the contemporary CBD market in terms of its health messages and marketing claims (Zenone et al., 2021), perceptions amongst young people (Wysota et al., 2022) and advertisements on social media (Merten et al., 2020), there is a dearth of knowledge when it comes to historical research on the topic. Most studies tend to offer general accounts of the history of cannabis (Booth, 2004; Campos, 2012; Hudak, 2020; Richert and Mills, 2021) or its use in Western medicine (Fankhauser, 2010; Pisanti and Bifulco, 2017; Breen, 2019; Guba, 2020), yet few have explored its commercialization into food products (see Borougerdi, 2018; Spiekerman, 2023 for exceptions). In recent years, there has been growing work in the area of historical food marketing, health and science (Nelson et al., 2020; Pohl-Valero, 2020; O’Hagan, 2021a, 2021b, 2022a, 2023; Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021; O’Hagan and Eriksson, 2022). These studies have shown how, throughout history, marketers have capitalized upon new scientific discoveries or medical knowledge to reshape products, drawing upon discourses of health and well-being in advertisements. Furthermore, these advertisements have problematically used doctored images, fearmongering, exaggerated statistics, buzzwords, misquotes and sweeping statements to promote such products, thereby convincing anxious consumers that they are essential to maintain a healthy lifestyle. We, thus, seek to contribute further to this important area with the first detailed historical study on cannabis-based food products, addressing the topic from a Swedish perspective. Through our research, we will demonstrate not only the long historical relationship between science and food marketing, but also how brands’ health claims could often be fraudulent or overstated. Furthermore, by framing the contemporary popularity of CBD products in a historical context, we will showcase how the supposed scientific and medical benefits of products continue to be exploited in problematic ways.

Development of media and advertising in late 19th-century Sweden

For centuries, Sweden was a predominantly rural country, but in the late 19th century, it began its transition into a modern, industrialized nation (Magnusson, 2002, p. 302). This led to two major interrelated changes in Swedish society: the emergence of a new middle class and the birth of modern press advertising. The late 19th and the early 20th centuries were the golden age of the Swedish press. In the 1870s, the combined circulation of all Swedish press was just over 100,000; 20 years later, it exceeded one million. In Stockholm alone – a city with 300,000 inhabitants – there were 11 daily newspapers in 1900. The market was entirely commercial and faced fierce competition not only from other newspapers but also from weekly magazines and specialized periodicals aimed at different target groups. Attracting advertisers was essential to a newspaper’s survival, and the advertisements could take up a third or even half of the column space of an issue. In major dailies of the 1890s, such as Aftonbladet and Dagens Nyheter, both the front page and the last page were mostly devoted to advertisements, a normal issue containing four pages in total (Holmberg et al., 1983, p. 126; Gustafsson and Rydén, 2001; Harvard, 2016; Runefelt, 2019, p. 25).

Many companies realized the potential in press advertising, fueled by emerging business ideas about the power of advertising and ways of transforming newspaper readers into consumers of advertised goods (Appelgren, 1908; Arnberg, 2019). Owing to the dominance of the press as mass medium, press advertising was considered the most effective channel for reaching a wide audience. However, many advertisers targeted specifically middle-class women. The middle class had greater disposable income and were conscious of keeping up with the latest trends. According to the ideology of domesticity – a dominant ideal in Sweden at the time – married women were supposed to stay at home and manage the household, with responsibility for the daily purchases as well as for the upbringing of children. Thus, women provided a ready-made consumer market for new household products. They were also supposed to be easily swayed by the rhetoric of marketing, more prone than men to desire products representing a modern lifestyle (Runefelt, 2019, pp. 61–73).

There is scarce research on the Swedish advertising industry before 1915. We know that there were almost no advertising firms as of today; instead, the firms acted as brokers of spaces for advertising between press and producers and retailers. In 1915, the advertising market was organized as a cartel between newspapers and advertisers, but before that, the market was more or less unregulated or relied on self-regulation by the newspaper industry (Harvard, 2016, pp. 188–194; Åström Rudberg, 2019, p. 54). However, at the turn of the century, it was also a highly dynamic industry because of several factors. One, of course, was the immense growth of the press. Another was the swift industrialization in industries producing less expensive consumer goods for everyday use, such as fashion and clothing, beauty products, beverages and health products. This not only filled the newspapers with a very diversified set of advertisements ranging from cradle to grave but also changed the visual appearance of the Swedish press because of an increased use of images. Many of these advertisements targeted women, selling foodstuff and health products – cannabis-based foods being both. Although the food industry remained local for a long time and advertised less than other sectors, from the 1870s onwards, there was an increase in the number of advertisements for industrially refined food. At the same time, the number of advertisements for edible or food-related health products increased (Runefelt, 2019; Jonsson, 2009, pp. 208–214; Qvarsell, 2005; O’Hagan, 2022a).

Historical regulation of cannabis products in Sweden: a brief overview

In 1864, when freedom of trade was introduced in Sweden and the last remnants of the guild society were abolished, certain exemptions were established for goods and sectors considered particularly sensitive. One such area was the production of pharmaceuticals. Until 1914, the production of pharmaceuticals remained privilege-based in Sweden, with only pharmacies allowed to produce and sell such products (Läkemedel och hälsa, 1987, pp. 35–38). Alongside these activities, however, a largely unregulated market for various health products and patent medicines emerged. While some health-related advertisements had existed prior to the late 19th century, these tended to be almost exclusively for spas and carbonated water, such as Bie and Ramlösa. During the late 19th century, medical knowledge increased in society and, with it, the belief that infirmities and diseases could be cured. This led to a substantial growth of the patent medicine industry which, from the 1880s, advertised heavily for all manner of potions, pills and tonics, magnetic, electric and orthopedic devices, each with bold assertions about improving one’s health (Sundin, 1987, p. 96f; Johannisson, 1991, 2013; Qvarsell, 2005).

In 1884, following calls from the medical profession to clamp down on the growing patent medicine industry, the Swedish Parliament passed the Trademarks Act. The law required any advertised pharmaceutical to contain the doctor’s name, the company’s symbol or the product’s symbol as a guarantee of its effect (Joelson, 2013). However, most patent medicines and health-related products were not regarded as pharmaceuticals and could be produced, marketed or sold freely by anyone, as long as they did not contravene laws or regulations regarding pharmaceuticals and the handling of poisons (Sundin, 1987, pp. 106–108; Thunberg, 1910). Legislation against patent medicines remained weak. Quackery was forbidden by law, but to get someone convicted, it was necessary to prove not only that the product sold was worthless but also that it was directly harmful, which was difficult for most patent medicines, as was shown in a trial in 1894 analyzed by Bosse Sundin (Sundin, 1987, p. 91f).

In tandem with this, the late 19th century also saw the development of nutrition as a science and the expanding belief that the primary purpose of food was as nourishment of the body (Coveney, 2000). Food manufacturers, therefore, began to identify ways to move key medicinal components into new food formulas to expand their reach or rebrand previous products (cf. O’Hagan, 2023). The German nerve tonic Sanatogen (O’Hagan, 2019), the French coca wine Vin Mariani (Emery, 2017) and the US soft drink Coca-Cola (Cortes, 2012) are just some examples of products that enabled food manufacturers to draw on the tried-and-tested methods of patent medicines and yet introduce these innovative practices into a new and more “trusted” market. Sweden was no exception, with manufacturers seeing a similar opportunity with cannabis and moving it beyond the realm of patent medicine into an integral component of food products in their own right.

The absence of a regulated advertising market – which also applied to advertisements for foodstuffs – worked in favor of the cannabis industry. On the one hand, the drug was widely recommended by physicians for convulsions, tetanus, insomnia and whooping cough (although there was vast disagreement amongst them on its actual effects). On the other hand, the substance did not fall under pharmaceutical regulations. By the end of the 19th century, there were several cannabis medicines on the market in Sweden, each capitalizing upon these legislative loopholes to promote the health benefits of their product.

In early 20th-century Sweden, politicians and social commentators frequently discussed the issues with alcohol, nicotine, morphine and coffee (Lindgren, 1991, p. 58, pp. 93–142; Runefelt, 2024). Cannabis, however, was not considered a problem at this time. The first attempts to legislate against narcotics were made in Swedish Parliament in the 1890s (Lindgren, 1991, pp. 57–59). There were particular concerns about morphine abuse, which was a consequence of the increased use in medicine; opium and cocaine also came under fire for similar reasons, albeit to a lesser extent. These substances were all regulated through pharmaceutical legislation. To the extent that other drugs were regulated at all, it was within the framework of regulations for the handling of poisons, which dealt mainly with arsenic and other strong poisons, often with a focus on avoiding criminal poisonings. Thus, in 1876, a renewed poison law had been introduced which, among other substances, criminalized the unauthorized sale of “Indian hemp” (cannabis indica), but other forms of cannabis remained unregulated. A new Poisons Act of 1906 criminalized the importation, sale and possession of various drugs, including heroin and cocaine. Cannabis was not further addressed (Hoflund, 1993, pp. 12–13).

In 1912, the Swedish Government signed the Hague Charter, which contained certain resolutions on opium abuse, to which Sweden adapted in the 1920s by joining various international frameworks. The country then had what can be called a narcotics policy. However, as Sven-Åke Lindgren shows in his study on the establishment of drug use as a social problem in Sweden, the focus on alcoholism was so strong at this time that, in 1914, Svenska Läkartidningen (the Swedish Medical Journal) concluded that other addictions, especially morphine, were neglected by both the medical profession and politicians (Lindgren, 1991, p. 62). The market was, thus, relatively free for cannabis-based foodstuffs [2].

After 1914, however, there were developments in two different fields that eventually led to the disappearance of advertisements for cannabis-based foodstuff. In 1915, the establishment of the advertising cartel (formalized in 1923) between the Association of Swedish Advertising Agencies and the Association of Swedish Newspaper Publishers introduced new guidelines for advertisements with medical content, while the introduction of an unfair competition law in 1931 sought to prohibit the intentional use of false statements in advertisements (Funke, 2015, p. 93). Around the same time, the Pharmacy Products Act (Apoteksvarulagen) was passed, which provided the first official definition of the term medicine as “any goods intended for external or internal use to prevent, alleviate or cure disease or disease symptoms in humans or animals”. However, the Act purely concerned the manufacture of products and included no provisions for marketing. In 1915, the Agency for Information on Pharmaceutical Advertisements was established in Uppsala, founded by a group of Uppsala doctors under the leadership of Professor Torsten Thunberg, a fervent critic of patent medicines and health-related advertisements since the beginning of the century (Lindgren, 1991, p. 61f). The Agency sought to purchase and review medicinal products advertised in written media in Sweden and publish the results in the trade press. This led to the publication of the brochure On Fraudulent Medicines and Treatment Methods (Om bedrägliga läkemedel och läkemetoder), although cannabis-based foods largely slipped through the net because of, to use a modern-day term, their “borderline” status (European Commission, 2020), which meant that it was unclear into which category they fell (i.e. food or pharmaceutical) and, thus, how they might be regulated. Manufacturers clearly took advantage of these “spaces of confusion” (Spiekerman, 2023) posed by their liminality between food and medicine. At the Second Opium Conference in 1925, Sweden added cannabis to its list of criminalized narcotics, although its use was still permitted as long as it was for individual medical treatment. By the 1930s, there were no cannabis products left on the commercial market and, by, 1968, the drug was criminalized in all its forms (Hoflund, 1993, pp. 14–15; Narkotigastrafflag, 1968, p. 64).

An investigation of the early cannabis-based food products industry in Sweden

In what follows, we present a chronological overview of the development of the early cannabis-based food products industry in Sweden, drawing upon key examples of advertisements and articles in the Swedish Historical Newspaper Archive. The first section explores Waldenström’s hempseed gruel as a treatment for tuberculosis; the second section outlines the commercialization of hempseed extracts, while the third focuses on the development of Maltos-Cannabis by the Red Cross Technical Factory. This is followed by a concluding discussion on the core strategies used by marketers, how Sweden’s lack of legislation led to their success and what we can learn from this historical example when thinking of the growing CBD market today.

Tuberculosis, weight loss and Waldenström’s hempseed gruel

Perhaps surprisingly, the late 19th-century wave of cannabis-based foods in Sweden began neither in patent medicine nor in the food industry, but rather in the free church environment and in the fight against tuberculosis. In 1891, Paul Peter Waldenström, leader of the newly founded Swedish Mission Covenant (Svenska missionsförbundet) wrote a letter to Svenska Morgonbladet – a free church evangelical daily – in which he told the story of a woman suffering from tuberculosis. She would certainly have died if her husband had not given her a homebrewed remedy in the form of a gruel made from crushed hempseeds, rye flour and milk. With the gruel, she had recovered quite quickly. When the article was printed in April 1891, Waldenström had no commercial interests whatsoever – on the contrary, the recipe for the gruel was included in the article (Waldenström, 1891).

At this time, tuberculosis was a serious social problem; a severe, incurable and highly fatal disease and one of the most common causes of death in Sweden across all class groups (Puranen, 1984; Blevins and Bronze, 2010). After Robert Koch identified the tubercle bacillus as the main cause of tuberculosis in 1882, not only did the hope of finding a cure increase but tuberculosis also became much more widely recognized and discussed by both doctors and the public (Puranen, 1984; Blevins and Bronze, 2010, p. 315). Koch’s remedy for the disease –“tuberculin” or Koch’s lymph – was used in Sweden in the early 1890s but without success. There were also several homebrewed remedies, one of which came to be known as “Waldenström’s gruel”.

There were two reasons why this particular home remedy became so popular. The first was Waldenström himself. Paul Peter Waldenström (1838–1917) was a priest who, already in the 1870s, created great debate and a public name by questioning fundamental dogmas in Sweden’s official Christianity. He later left the state church and became one of the country’s leading figures in the free church movement, loved and revered by many and known by all. He was a prolific writer, a keen missionary and, for many years, a member of Swedish Parliament (without any party affiliation). For decades, even long after Waldenström’s death, members of the Swedish Mission Covenant – the largest denomination in Sweden after the Lutheran State Church – were called “Waldenströmers” (Waldenströmare). Therefore, when Waldenström highlighted the gruel, many Swedes in general – and certainly those affected by the disease – as well as the medical profession listened.

The second reason for the success of the gruel was that it made consumers gain weight. Indeed, in addition to the cough and other well-known symptoms, a clear sign of tuberculosis was weight loss, which was thought to make the cough and its effects even more damaging. A little body fat could be seen as an antidote to the disease. Those who ate the gruel twice a day as presented in the recipe – one liter of milk, crushed hempseeds, rye flour – unsurprisingly gained weight. This was misinterpreted as a sign of recovery. Waldenström himself was probably expressing an established popular belief that obesity could cure tuberculosis when he wrote:

After only a few weeks one should feel better. The cure is continued for a few months, until one starts to get fat, and as one gets fatter, the disease vanquishes (Waldenström, 1891).

This was, of course, wrong. Malnutrition was (and is) a breeding ground for tuberculosis, but neither getting fat nor obesity from crushed hempseeds cures the disease. The hempseed was not a miracle cure; however, as only the rye flour and milk were considered to have no effect, it was perceived as the one active ingredient. Waldenström’s view was quoted verbatim by Henrik Berg, who at the time was one of the most active physicians in Swedish public debates on health issues. Berg said that Waldenström’s gruel could be difficult to prepare properly and that some people found it disgusting over time but he did not question its efficacy (Berg, 1894). Waldenström’s gruel became recommended in popular medical texts of the time, including Doctor’s Book for Everyone (1899) (Läkarebok för alla) by Dr E.W. Wretlind (1899), where it was described as being used regularly by patients in his institution, thereby imbuing the food with medical authority. Other doctors, on the other hand, argued that a plentiful diet was one of the few effective remedies for tuberculosis. The patient should eat lots of food, but not all at once; rather, they should eat little and often, so as to increase their body weight (Om Själfbehandling af Lungtuberkulos, 1897).

Already then, we see a growing interest in cannabis-based foods, such as gruel, amongst the Swedish public, despite conflicting views and misinterpretations on their health-restoring properties. This interest would consolidate over the next decade, as the products swiftly moved from preparation in the home to a whole lucrative commercial industry.

Commercialization of hempseeds: hempseed extracts

Given the fact that tuberculosis was such a widespread, fatal disease and there was also a number of less serious lung conditions that caused concern at the time, a market for various “chest remedies” soon developed. Throughout the late 19th century, a series of largely ineffective drugs and patent medicines for various lung conditions and coughs were advertised in the Swedish local and national press, such as India, Bronchial bröstkarameller and Alingsås renande Brösthonung (Engelholms Tidning, 1891; Dagens Nyheter, 1891; Norrköpings Tidningar, 1891). None of these products were classified as medicines under the pharmacies’ privilege to produce and sell pharmaceuticals, so they could be marketed and sold freely. As Henrik Berg already pointed out, these medicines soon faced competition from producers who tried to capitalize on Waldenström’s attention to the effects of hempseed (Berg, 1894). This was made possible by the lax legislation on the production, marketing and sale of “medicines” other than those covered by the pharmaceutical privilege and the legislation on the handling of poisons.

In April 1892, J. Barthelson advertised in local smalltown dailies and in the leading Stockholm national newspaper Dagens Nyheter for a product called hempseed extract, using the elegant French name, Extrait Canabis. The foreign name gave the product a sense of exoticism and a “cachet of quality” (Walkowiak, 2013), thereby increasing its perceived value and desirability. It was the first advertisement for an extract, that is, for Waldenström’s gruel in powder form, but Barthelson had already been selling it for some time. The advertisement had testimonials from satisfied patients, one of which was dated December 1891, just over six months after Waldenström announced his gruel recipe (Dagens Nyheter, 1892).

The extract was marketed as a dietary remedy for tuberculosis, chest diseases, lack of energy and weight loss and was said to be “a concentrated extract of hempseed with the addition of associated substances, consisting of ingredients that strongly promote the gaining of fat” (Norrlandsposten, 1892). The nature of these added substances was not mentioned. Already in June 1892, advertisements had added several words, now calling it “A famous dietary remedy” (Norrtelje Tidning, 1892). This hyperbolic statement imbued the product with prestige, seeking to convince the public of its worth through its well-known reputation across Sweden. Barthelson was an entrepreneur who ran a small “Chemical Factory” in the equally small village of Järpen near Östersund in Northern Sweden; he also advertised for spinning wheels (Jämtlandsposten, 1893a) and held a patent for furniture upholstery made of birch bark (Norrlandsposten, 1893). He was, therefore, no stranger to how to effectively market products.

In late 1892, a nearby competitor, A.G. Holst in Östersund, started marketing his own product. He too called it hempseed extract (Hampfröextrakt) and used a French word, Extract or Extrait de Canabe (Jämtlandsposten, 1892) to market it. He also ran a “Technical Factory”, but unlike Barthelson, he was a pharmacist who produced various preparations, pharmaceutical products and patent medicines, such as remedies for gout, corns and toothaches (Jämtlandsposten, 1893b). He worked with pharmacist J.L Hedin, soon credited – rightly or wrongly – to be the inventor of the hempseed extract. Hedin and Holst marketed their products under different brands, Holst using “Östersunds Kem. Tekn. Fabrik” (The Chemical Factory of Östersund) and Hedin “Tekniska fabriken Renen” (The Reindeer Technical Factory, alluding to their northern location). They were much more frequent advertisers than Barthelson, who also warned readers about “a possibly worthless product” advertised under “a similar name”, clearly referring to Holst and Hedin (Smålandsposten, 1893).

In an advertisement from 1894 (Figure 1), Holst sold the extract under the headline “Waldenström’s renowned chest-remedy Hempseed extract”, as if Waldenström himself had already refined and sold an extract (Hemlandsposten, 1894a, 1894b, 1894c). It was an inconspicuous advertisement albeit slightly larger than what was normal; the French Extrait de Canabe had been omitted, and what was emphasized in larger letters instead was Waldenström’s name and the word hempseed extract. Perhaps this advertisement caught the reader’s eye a little more because there was actually a smaller advertisement for a local competitor right underneath, Ahlström and Cederberg, which basically consisted of only one big word, “Hempseed extract”, with the addition that the firm sold it cheapest in both lots and minutes. Extrait de Canabe soon became a national product sold in most of Sweden and marketed in a variety of local newspapers and by a number of agents (Skellefteå Nya Tidning, 1894; Söderköpingsposten, 1894). Its powder form made it easy to transport and store. It could also be served ready-made in cafés and canteens, under names such as “hempseed gruel” (Jämtlandsposten, 1894). In line with many other producers of patent medicines at the time, Hedin and Holst argued that the extract was effective not only against tuberculosis but against all sorts of chest, throat, stomach and head conditions (Örnsköldsviksposten, 1895; Jämtlandsposten, 1902; Hälsovännen, 1903).

Thus, when the product was commercialized, its effects were broadened – echoing a similar pattern seen in other products of the time, such as nerve food (O’Hagan, 2019) and health drinks (O’Hagan, 2023). After all, tuberculosis was not as common an ailment as chest infections, coughing or physical weakness. By extending the so-called benefits of the product, producers could, thus, cast a net over a wider group of potential consumers, resulting in larger profits and popularity.

However, at an early stage of marketing, tuberculosis was still a major argument for Holst and Hedin, not refraining from fearmongering when reminding readers of the suffering and death caused by the disease: the sick “gradually become incapable of working and unable to bear the various hardships of life, so that they look forward with joy to the final resolution of their sufferings”, i.e. death. This fearmongering was a popular strategy seen in marketing right up to the mid-20th century (cf. Belk and Pollay, 1985; Loeb, 1994). This is certainly the case here where consumers were reminded that they could soon get better if only they ingested twice a day the extract based on “Lecturer Waldenström’s generally renowned hempseed-extract”, again referring to the extract itself as invented by Waldenström, exploiting his name and reputation (Jämtlands Allehanda, 1892). This exploitation enabled Holst and Hedin to appeal to consumers on the basis of both reason and emotion (Schweitzer, 2004): presenting them with a reason why they should buy the hempseed extract and making emotional connections with a well-loved Swedish figure of authority.

While Hedin’s name disappeared after 1904, Holst’s hempseed extract was advertised by different pharmacies around the country well into the 1920s. They long took advantage of Waldenström’s name: the title of one of The Reindeer’s half-page advertisements (Figure 2), for example, was “Reindeer hempseed extract which is the Valdenströmian [sic] hempseed gruel”. The sentence structure implied that the two products were one and the same – a technique found in both historical and contemporary food marketing to maintain a link (albeit tenuous) with the product’s origins and work symbolically to emphasize its supposed benefits based on authority (O’Hagan, 2021a). The advertisement stated that the extract was to be mixed with half a liter of milk, so in that sense it was certainly similar to Waldenström’s original recipe, while now enriched with iron (Hälsovännen, 1904). According to the same advertisement, the iron made the product not only good for tuberculosis, chest-, stomach- and bladder catarrh and general weakness while improving digestion, but it also purified the blood. While the benefits of iron had been recognized since at least the 16th century, they received new attention in the early 20th century following growing research into both anemia and mineral deficiencies (Carpenter, 2003). This emphasis on iron, thus, enabled Holst to extend the potential benefits of his product, focusing on protective nutrients required for normal body functioning and to prevent nutrient deficiency diseases, which accelerated interest in “nutri-quantification” (Scrinis, 2013, p. 42).

No doctor attested to the effectiveness of the remedy in Holst’s advertisement. Instead, a preacher, E.F. Holmstrand, testified that his wife had become much stronger and healthier from Reindeer’s hempseed extract, both in powder and pill form. Mrs Holmstrand’s wife, however, did not suffer from tuberculosis, but had “been frail and suffered from general weakness”. All in all, the initial basis for the hempseed extract – tuberculosis – had either disappeared or was now heavily downplayed as a selling point. Either it had become clear that the gruel did not cure the disease, or it was more profitable to target more diffuse chest conditions. Tuberculosis was indeed easier to diagnose around the turn of the century, while the sanatorium culture began to be established in Sweden, as well as in other parts of Europe as the foremost therapy against the disease (Johannisson, 1991).

The fact that a preacher rather than a physician attested to the efficacy of the extract may have to do with a 1901 publication in the Swedish Pharmaceutical Journal (Svensk Farmaceutisk Tidskrift) of an extensive analysis by Carl Mörner, Professor of Medical and Physiological Chemistry, of various “commercially available arcana” or “humbug drugs”. Among these, Hedin’s hempseed extract was included, and the analysis showed that it largely lacked the essential ingredient, i.e. the hempseed itself, and instead contained mostly rye flour and salt. According to Mörner (1901), the small amount of hempseed that was found was also rancid. This bears a startling resemblance to findings made by Swedish scientists about radium-infused products, also marketed at the time as a panacea; most products, in fact, were found to contain little or no radium, leading the National Swedish Board of Health to later call them “humbug medicines” (Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021).

Maltos-Cannabis and the Red Cross Technical Factory

Despite these growing concerns about the legitimacy of hempseed extract, manufacturers continued to ramp up their efforts to promote the product. As mentioned above, cannabis-based foodstuffs were free to both advertise and sell even if proven worthless, as they did not fall under existing legislation on poisons or pharmaceuticals, nor were there any regulations against false or misleading advertising of fake products. The Reindeer Technical Factory employed agents to sell its extract in the south of Sweden. In Stockholm, it was marketed by a company named Tekniska Fabriken Röda Korset (The Red Cross Technical Factory) from the fall of 1893 (Aftonbladet, 1893). However, Red Cross soon became the main competitor of the Reindeer Technical Factory when it launched its own cannabis-based product in 1893.

The Red Cross Technical Factory specialized in the manufacture of (pseudo) health products and was founded in Stockholm in 1891 by Erik Taflin. Taflin had studied at a commercial school in Jämtland, a county on the western border of Sweden and then subsequently worked in wholesaling, spending time in England to explore business opportunities before returning to Sweden to set up his own company. The name was a calculated choice, drawing loose connections with the international humanitarian organization Red Cross. In doing so, Taflin imbued Red Cross with a medical seal of approval, associating the company with health, healing and benevolence. Taflin’s choice of brand logo – a red squirrel gathering nuts – was also strategic, representing the dual values of “swiftness and attentiveness” (Hasselgren, 1897).

The first product launched by Red Cross was medicinal sweets (medicinska karamellar), claimed to be manufactured “under the official control” of engineer John Landin and provide benefits for the blood, the stomach, the chest and bone structure. This product was followed one year later by Lysol – a disinfectant spray that killed “bacilli and microorganisms” and protected against “cholera, diphtheria, typhus, and scarlet fever” – and Amerik. Samaritbalsam (American Samarite balm) – a “world famous remedy for rheumatism, wounds, nerve pain, toothache, and headaches”. While these products were minorly successful on the market, it was in 1893 that Taflin hit the jackpot with the launch of Maltos-Cannabis.

Since the 1870s, maltose – a sugar extracted from cereals – had been used commercially in the form of beer and other foodstuff. It was advocated by physicians to cure a plethora of health conditions, from coughs and shortness of breath to anemia and intestinal disorders (Berg, 1894; Runefelt, 2024). Capitalizing upon the Swedish public’s knowledge of the health benefits of maltose, Red Cross added hempseed extract to the solution, producing a new type of “health drink”. According to Red Cross, this solution was more palatable and nutritional than previous cannabis-based products (particularly when mixed with cocoa) and, consequently, was better for one’s health. They supported this claim with endorsements from Swedish professor Mikael Steen who described Maltos-Cannabis as ideal for “health refreshment and restoration” and warned that “no house should be without it”.

From the very beginning, Red Cross invested in a widespread advertising campaign to promote Maltos-Cannabis across all major local and national newspapers in the country. By 1894, the company’s annual turnover was SEK 290,000 (roughly $983,000 in modern money) and it had established independent branch factories in Chicago, Helsinki, Brussels and Utrecht (Ring, 1907). According to Ring (1907, p. 201), this was “quite astonishing”, given that a can of Maltos-Cannabis cost just 25 öre (roughly 25 cents). Like the advertisements for hempseed extracts from Holst, Hedin and Barthelson, the Maltos-Cannabis advertisements were usually textual in nature, but there was one striking pictorial advertisement – created by artist Gunnar Forssell – that was repeated frequently (Figure 3), often printed on a full page.

The advertisement offered a rhetorical depiction of the triumph of science over illness and death. On the right in the foreground, there is a skeleton holding the scythe associated with the Grim Reaper. He is looking over his shoulder with a fearful expression on his face, while his legs and arms are outstretched in a fleeing motion. His gaze is directed toward the bright beam of a lighthouse in the background, which represents the light (i.e. knowledge) of science and its potential to stave off death. To the side stands a mother holding the hand of her young daughter. They are depicted from the back, which encourages viewers to contemplate them and draw meaning from their position (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2006, p. 124). The image of the mother is significant as she was seen as the person responsible for her family’s health, yet was believed to need the intervention of experts to carry out this role – what Apple (2006) describes as “scientific motherhood”. Both figures raise their arm triumphantly, indicating a victory over death and protection from illness. The reason for this victory becomes clear when reading the capitalized text caught in the lighthouse’s beam: HAMPFRÖEXTRAKT (HEMPSEED EXTRACT). Its spatial location provides a clear visual link between science and the food product, implying that this is the reason why the family is safe. This fearmongering sought to “sensationalize parental fears” and convince them that failure to purchase a certain product could “jeopardize [the health of] innocent children” (Loeb, 1994, p. 114).

The lighthouse also stands as a powerful representation of modernity and technology. The late 19th century was characterized by innovations in lighthouse technology in Sweden that were widely reported in the press, so this reference would not go unnoticed by the Swedish public. Read in this way, the skeleton can also be interpreted as a metaphor for old times overcome by modern progress. Thanks to the wonders of science embodied in Maltos-Cannabis, life is now safer and longer. The fact that the scene takes place at night is also noteworthy, the contrasts of light/white and dark/black connoting the battle between good and evil (Kress and van Leeuwen, 2002, p. 348). The Red Cross brand name features prominently in the center of the image, the large red cross acting as a symbol of medical authority.

Below the image are several paragraphs of text that provide more information about the product. Linking directly to the theme of the image, Maltos-Cannabis is described as a “happily found composition” with “a big future”, while manicules are used to draw attention to the product names in bold. A simplistic explanation of the product’s components (flour, malt sugar and hempseed fat) is also provided, with an emphasis on the fact that these “individually valuable, nourishing, and health-promoting ingredients” perfectly complement each other. Together, they thus make Maltos-Cannabis “a highly concentrated remedy against scurvy, diseases of the lungs, airways, chest, and stomach, as well as against weakness and emaciation, which has a far greater value than the hempseed extract itself”.

It was not all plain sailing for Maltos-Cannabis, however, and it often found itself the subject of heated debates in the press about its authenticity. On February 1, 1894, for example, “P.R”. wrote into the Letters to the Editor page of Hälsovännen, asking editor Henrik Berg (the very same Henrik Berg who was a physician heavily involved in public debates on health issues) if there was any value in consuming Maltos-Cannabis. Hälsovännen was a popular semimonthly journal for “general and individual healthcare”, published in Sweden between 1886 and 1947 and founded by Wilhelm Wretlind, a Swedish physician and one of the leaders of the temperance and free church movements. Berg replied that, despite having never consumed the product himself, he had heard others praise it and assumed that its results would be “of the same nature” as hempseed gruel. Just one week later, a letter by reader Erik Eriksson was published in Hemlandsposten (a local Gävle newspaper), where he expressed his frustration at seeing advertisements every day for new hempseed products. While Eriksson believed that Waldenström’s hempseed gruel was beneficial, he was skeptical of companies like Red Cross who tried to “improve” upon the product with the aim of “making money rather than really helping the suffering”. He ended by claiming that Maltos-Cannabis was a “pure scam product” that did not actually contain hempseed extract.

In his reply to Eriksson, editor J. Löfgren defended Hemlandsposten’s decision to print advertisements from a range of brands that sold cannabis-based products and emphasized that he had not seen any negative effects to date. He also argued that coffee was far more dangerous for one’s health than cannabis and that he would, in fact, be happy if cannabis drinks replaced coffee entirely. The issue of widespread coffee abuse became a major political issue after the turn of the century, but increasing coffee consumption was debated already in the 1890s, as coffee was considered both to enfeeble the individual and to damage the Swedish balance of trade (Runefelt, 2024). An article published in Svenske Argus (1894a) (“Eko från affärsverlden”) also expressed skepticism over Maltos-Cannabis, noting that it claimed to be a “a universal remedy against almost all ailments known to man”. The writer stated that its Latin name was chosen to imbue credibility and the “arcana” had been “puffed up profusely” through mass advertising. He expressed disgust at how money had been taken from “poor, sick people” who anxiously looked for a cure for their health and blamed it on the USA, saying that Red Cross had learnt from the unscrupulous marketing techniques used there.

On May 2, 1894, Erik Eriksson wrote back to Henrik Berg in Hälsovännen, citing a letter by “Old Physician” published in the Gothenburg daily newspaper Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfarts-Tidning (1894a, 1894b, 1894c). The letter by “Old Physician” was one of the most scathing opinions on Maltos-Cannabis. In it, the physician described the public’s obsession with hempseed as an “epidemic” that had spread all over the country and argued that cannabis-based preparations were simply “humbug”. He maintained that the only way to fight tuberculosis was to prevent the growth of the tubercle bacillus in the lungs. Hempseed was “ineffective” and “harmful” in this respect and only served to suppress appetite, impair digestion and cause stomach ulcers. It was also reprinted in other papers under such damning headlines as “An Inappropriate Drug” (Svenske Argus, 1894b). Nine days later, editor Henrik Berg replied to “Old Physician”, taking umbrage with the description of cannabis-based products as “harmful”. “I am really at a loss as to how I should respond to such a bold claim”, he stated, arguing that just because some individuals cannot tolerate Maltos-Cannabis, this does not mean that the product is dangerous. He underlined the fact that milk is not dangerous simply because some people are intolerant. Berg concluded by underscoring that Maltos-Cannabis was not “humbug” and it was, in fact, “extremely easily absorbable”. To stress his point, he maintained that he had no connections with Red Cross, nor had he ever tried the product himself. It would seem that Berg had a genuine belief in the product and was perhaps also influenced by his skepticism toward coffee drinking, which could be countered by endorsing other products.

At this point, J.L. Hedin stepped in and offered his “expert opinion” as the first inventor of “extrait de canabe” in a letter to Göteborgs Handels- och Sjöfarts-Tidning. Published on May 19, 1894, he disputed the negative press around hempseed and explained that he had always consulted with medical authorities and that his product was a supplement not a medicine, yet it had also been prescribed successfully by physicians. Red Cross equally took action against these claims, yet on an unprecedented scale, releasing a half-page advertisement on July 19, 1894 that was published in over 100 newspapers and signed by members of the company (Figure 4). The advertisement directly addressed the debates that had been taking place, before affirming in bold that Maltos-Cannabis was “not humbug” and that this was the view of a leading Swedish doctor (most probably referring to Berg). In the advertisement, Red Cross also explained how they took a strong line on the plagiarism of products and that analysis of a genuine Maltos-Cannabis product would show that it has “four times greater percent of maltose” than other products, which made it more easily absorbable and nourishing. This was the reason why it had been recommended by so many physicians. A large cross was printed in the center of the article, with the text arranged around it, which emphasized the “medical” authority of Maltos-Cannabis, while reminding of the brand name, Red Cross. It acted as a strong testimony of the large-scale public relations (PR) campaign that Red Cross was willing to launch to respond to smears and protect its reputation. By investing so much in national advertising, it was able to reach populations across the country in an attempt to restore faith in Maltos-Cannabis and prove that it was legitimate.

The debate fell back on the perceptions of high body weight as a remedy for tuberculosis. On the one hand, Red Cross – as well as its most recognized advocate Henrik Berg – argued that maltose was a good complement to the hempseed extract because it was well known that the nutrients in maltose were more easily absorbable than was the case with other forms of sugar. On the other hand, critics argued that maltose was too filling and was therefore suppressing appetite, which, in keeping with the view of tuberculosis, was devastating to sufferers, who needed all the appetite they could muster. It is, therefore, no coincidence that an important criticism of the product was made at an early stage. Red Cross, Hedin and Holst all eventually released the hempseed extract from the Waldenström link to tuberculosis, although they were happy to continue using Waldenström’s name. Thus, later on, a criticism like “Old Physician’s” became less relevant.

Despite the ongoing discussions over its legitimacy, in autumn 1894, Maltos-Cannabis won a bronze medal at the World Exhibition in Antwerp. The testimony of Dr Frellsen – a member of the jury – emphasized the nutritional value of Maltos-Cannabis and was immediately added to advertisements to build back credibility for the product:

I, the undersigned, Medical Physician, state that, for people suffering from stomach complaints, tuberculosis and anemia, I prescribe with great success Maltos-Cannabis from the Red Cross Technical Factory, Stockholm Sweden. I have found that it is a wonderful nourishing product, very easily digestible and gives very auspicious results in a short time.

Such testimonies helped construct role model authority (van Leeuwen, 2008, p. 107), presenting (female) consumers with a reason why they should buy the product and playing upon their desire to protect their families and keep them safe (O’Hagan, 2022b).

One month later, Westmanlands Allehanda published an article about Red Cross’s production facility in Chicago. Interestingly, the article noted how the production facility was run by Mr P. N. Waldenström – the son of the famous Pastor Waldenström. According to the journalist, as Waldenström the elder was seen as “a kind of pope” amongst Swedes, many expats “rushed out” to buy Maltos-Cannabis thinking that it was linked to Waldenström’s hempseed gruel. The journalist also noted the impact of the company name and how Red Cross made consumers think of “something extremely Christian”, which also influenced their decision to purchase Maltos-Cannabis. The article concluded by stating that if Maltos-Cannabis gained as much trust in the USA as it had done in Sweden, it would swiftly become “a million-dollar business” (Westmanlands Allehanda, 1894).

Despite the initial success of Maltos-Cannabis in the USA, more problems came for Red Cross in December 1894 when A.G. Holst took Erik Taflin to court for “defamation”. According to an article in Dagens Nyheter (1894), a Red Cross circular stated that Holst did “not have the ability to manufacture maltose”. As a result, Holst was claiming SEK 6,000 in damages (roughly $18,900 in modern money). Taflin objected to this claim and the objection was upheld. He received SEK 10 in compensation (roughly $35 in modern money) for having to show up in court. In late 1895, Taflin took Pastor Waldenström himself to court, suing him for not respecting a settlement regarding the Chicago factory. Waldenström had put capital into the factory, and profits were to be shared equally, but now the factory was making losses and Taflin wanted them to be shared equally too. The case was favorable to Taflin and, through settlement, it was decided that Waldenström would pay him SEK 8,400 (roughly $28,600 in modern money (Aftonbladet, 1895; Dagens Nyheter, 1896).

Notwithstanding these national scandals, Red Cross boasted a share capital of SEK 300,000 in 1896 (roughly $1.1m in modern money) and became a limited company. However, sales of Maltos-Cannabis slowly began to decrease over the next five years. Red Cross responded by launching new products onto the market, such as Närsalt Maltos biscuits (1896), Miranda Aseptin mouthwash (1896), Skogs-Viol soap and perfume (1900), Dessert-Gelée (1900) and Klitvål soap (1900), but by 1902, the company was declared bankrupt. Taflin formed a new Red Cross company from the remains with minimal success, but scandal arose again in January 1906 when he was accused of “negligent poison-selling” for breaking one of the actual laws regulating the sale of drugs, i.e. the regulation for the handling of poisons (Stockholms Nyheter, 1906). More specifically, he had been selling osmium acid as an “ordinary commodity” when it was, in fact, a well-known and extremely strong poison and, thus, illegal to sell by any other than pharmacists. By 1912, Red Cross had gone bankrupt again.

Ironically, from 1905, Holst was not just the only remaining advertiser for a hempseed extract, but he later brought Red Cross’s concept back to life and advertised his hempseed extract as “Maltos Cannabis”. Under the headline “Drink Health!” (a common slogan also found in advertisements of the time for radium-based products and cod liver oil, cf. Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021; O’Hagan and Eriksson, 2022), a 1916 advertisement in Dagens Nyheter said: “Always buy some of pharmacist Holst’s Maltos Cannabis, which is an improved invention of Lecturer Waldenström’s famous hempseed extract” (Dagens Nyheter, 1916). The exact text was used for almost a decade before Holst vanished from the market in 1924. In 1925, the Nitor Chemical Factory started to advertise Maltos Cannabis as a beverage for children (Dagens Nyheter, 1925) and continued into the early 1930s, before also disappearing.

Concluding discussion

Tracing the origins of the cannabis-based food products industry to late 19th-century Sweden has uncovered an interesting “rise and fall” story. The story began with well-known pastor, Paul Peter Waldenström, simply recommending homemade hempseed gruel as a cure for tuberculosis. Recognizing a lucrative opportunity, manufacturers swiftly began to commercialize the recipe into their own hempseed extract products. The commercial cannabis market was able to thrive in Sweden as a result of the country’s lack of regulations at the time for the marketing of both food and pharmaceutical products. Manufacturers of cannabis-based foods could, thus, advertise freely, supporting their claims with (pseudo) scientific knowledge, “testimonies” from physicians, and the latest buzzwords, while simultaneously maintaining an air of mystery and exoticism around the products (Young, 2015). These strategies are in line with other “borderline” products of the period, such as health drinks (Pohl-Valero, 2020; O’Hagan, 2023), cod liver oil (O’Hagan and Eriksson, 2022), nerve foods (O’Hagan, 2019) and radioactive foods (Santos, 2020; Eriksson and O’Hagan, 2021), demonstrating how food companies can become the primary disseminators of simplified and reductive understandings of food and nutrients, which are then embraced and internalized by health-conscious consumers.

Barthelson, Holst and Hedin, for example, all filled the local and national press with advertisements lauding this “wonder cure” for tuberculosis but also extended its health-imbuing properties to all forms of chest complaints, stomach disorders, headaches and weakness. Through this marketing, the public gained a new idea that certain food products could provide widespread benefits for them and their families and were encouraged to buy them, even if they did not fully understand the claims made and the information provided was not always strictly true (O’Hagan, 2021a). By the 1890s, the newly established Red Cross Technical Factory was leading the way with its Maltos-Cannabis preparations, marketed on a wide scale across the country with striking images of the Grim Reaper fleeing from the “light” of science. Nonetheless, Red Cross came under constant criticism in the press regarding the authenticity of its product, leading a public debate to play out in which the company was prepared to invest vast sums of money to safeguard its reputation.

By the mid-1910s, there was just one cannabis-based food manufacturer left in Sweden: Holst. All its competitors had either gone bankrupt (like in the case of Red Cross) or were halted by the introduction of the Pharmacy Products Act and the Agency for Information on Pharmaceutical Advertisements. The Agency’s reports and reviews found that most advertised medicinal products consisted of far too simple substances to be able to exert their “miraculous” effects (Qvarsell and Torell, 2005). Although cannabis-based foods were not explicitly on the list, this raised consumer skepticism. One circumstance making it possible for Holst to continue advertising his product was that hempseed was not classified as a pharmaceutical product. While Holst and Hedin themselves were trained pharmacists – a fact which they used in their advertisements – their product was formally not pharmaceutical, so it was not covered by this new Act. Thus, its “borderline” status enabled the product to fall between the cracks as it tread a liminal line between food and medicine. In this way, the cannabis products of the turn of the last century were similar to those of today, framed as they are as “nutraceuticals” rather than “pharmaceuticals”.

By the 1930s, no cannabis-infused foods were left on the market. This was a result of a combination of factors, including the establishment of an advertising cartel in 1923 which introduced new guidelines for advertisements with medical content, the introduction of an unfair competition law in 1931 (updated in 1942), which sought to prohibit the intentional use of false statements in advertisements, and the stringent monitoring of advertisements with medical content by the Swedish medical journal Läkartidningen. There were also increasingly negative public attitudes towards cannabis in Sweden, following the decision of the Second Opium Conference in 1925 to change the drug’s status to a criminalized narcotic when used outside of the medical setting, thereby attaching a certain stigma to its use (Hoflund, 1993). It was not until 1968, however, that cannabis became criminalized in all its forms.

Unlike its other European counterparts, marketing in Sweden remained self-regulated by a cartel up until its dissolution in 1965 and the introduction of an “extensive state regime for protecting consumer rights” in 1971 (Funke, 2015, p. 21), which included a Market Practices Act, a Consumer Ombudsman and a Market Court. A special board to regulate pharmaceuticals had, however, been established in 1941 with both clearance and policing functions. Although proposals had also been put forward to regulate non-prescription medications and nutrition supplements in the same way, they were rebutted by the Advertising Federation (Funke, 2015). No similar board to regulate food and drink was ever even suggested, allowing many products to slip through the legislative net for decades.

Casting an historical lens on the commercialization of cannabis-based food products is timely and necessary because demand for similar types of products has rapidly grown over the last decade. Today, the global CBD market is valued at US$6.4bn and is expected to increase at a compound annual growth rate of 16.2% from 2023 to 2030 (Grand View Research, 2023). Now, just as before, manufacturers are tapping into consumers’ insecurities around health, convincing them that hemp oil is a “revolution” (Cannaray CBD) that aims to “improv[e] life as nature intended” (Purity Hemp). Rather concerningly, public authority figures are being used to endorse such products (e.g. influencers on social media), posing a particular risk to young people (Berg et al., 2023). Many of the same questions that concerned cannabis-based food products in the late 19th century also continue to be mooted today: what exactly do they contain? Are they beneficial for the body? Do they have long-term harmful effects? How should they be regulated? Given the scandals that historically erupted over such products, it may be good practice for contemporary regulators to look to such historical case studies to learn and make more concerted efforts to “get it right” this time. Reconstructing the roots of a seemingly contemporary phenomenon can also help consumers to cast a critical eye over the claims put forward about cannabis in ways that they may struggle to do when they are too close to the trend.

Turning to Sweden, it is one of the few countries in which the legal cannabis market remains tightly regulated. In 2019, the Swedish Supreme Court ruled that CBD oil and other products are not legal if they contain the psychoactive ingredient tetrahydrocannabinol (THC). Furthermore, any CBD products must obtain approval from the Medical Products Agency and are classed as medicines rather than supplements or foods (Rusjan, 2023). This means that it is almost impossible to even sell THC-free CBD products legally in Sweden, which has practically closed the Swedish market for such products. Sweden, therefore, stands as a counterexample to an industry that is rapidly growing across the Western world, but how long this will remain the case is debatable, given increasing pressures from lobbyists. Paying greater attention to the broader and problematic history of commercial cannabis may serve as a reminder to think twice about whether hemp really is for health and if the claims it espouses are a mirage rather than a miracle.

Figures

Figure 1.

A.G. Holst hemp seed extract

Figure 2.

J.L Hedin hemp seed extract

Figure 3.

Red cross Maltos-Cannabis

Figure 4.

Red cross advertisement in response to smears

Notes

1. CBD products do not contain stetrahydrocannabinol – the component in cannabis that creates a “high” or state of euphoria.

2. Indeed, such was Sweden’s focus on alcoholism that, in 1922, a prohibition referendum was held. The result was 49% in favour of prohibition and 51% against, giving a marginal win to the “no” side.