Is Rick Perry High?

When I recently saw Rick Perry sitting across from Joe Rogan, I was surprised. When I heard what Mr. Perry was there to discuss, I was shocked.

For over two hours on the world’s biggest podcast, the former Texas governor championed ibogaine — a powerful psychoactive alkaloid — as a potential breakthrough for America’s addiction and mental health crises. In truth, hearing a staunch conservative praise a mind-altering substance was so unexpected that I had to double-check that I wasn’t hallucinating (I wasn’t).

Many mind-altering drugs are made in labs or taken from common plants, but ibogaine comes from the iboga plant, a shrub that grows in West Africa. Recently, it has drawn attention for its purported ability to relieve opioid withdrawal symptoms and fight addiction cycles. For centuries, ibogaine has been an essential part of African spiritual and healing ceremonies.

But, I ask, can a substance deeply rooted in an entirely different culture, used in rituals by people with entirely different lifestyles, really work in America?

Some describe ibogaine as a “reset” for the brain — an experience so profound that it can break years of dependency in a single session. Yet, despite its potential, this psychoactive compound remains largely unexplored. Scientific research is limited, its long-term effects are unclear, and serious safety concerns — including potentially fatal cardiac risks — have kept it illegal in the United States. 

Perry might see it as a lifeline for those trapped in addiction, but the reality is a little more complicated than he suggests.

Before going any further, it’s important to point out that Perry’s role as a psychedelic advocate has little to do with personal experimentation. He’s not speaking on behalf of Silicon Valley executives chasing “ego death” or Brooklyn hipsters on ayahuasca retreats. He’s not a microdosing, thrill-chasing hedonist. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Perry advocates for American veterans, many of whom have been left behind after serving their country. And for this, he should be commended.

The mental health crisis among veterans is a national disgrace — 18 suicides per day (that’s 6,570 each year), skyrocketing addiction rates, and a bureaucracy that provides too little, too late. (RELATED: Veterans and Suicides: It’s Worse Than the VA Reports)

The fact that so many men and women who risked their lives for the United States end up addicted and homeless is a crime in itself — one that deserves its own article. Yes, many of the wars they fought in were unnecessary, but that doesn’t change the reality that these men and women served their country, believing they were doing the right thing. The least the country can do in return is provide them with real solutions when they come home broken, beaten, and bereft of hope.

Perry, who served as secretary of energy during Trump’s first term, has seen the system’s failures firsthand. He’s spoken with veterans who have tried every conventional treatment — therapy, pharmaceuticals, rehab centers — only to find themselves trapped in the same cycles of trauma and dependency. For these individuals, ibogaine has been pitched as a last resort, a treatment that supposedly interrupts addiction patterns and alleviates PTSD symptoms in a way traditional therapies have failed to achieve.

Unlike more conventional therapies, ibogaine doesn’t require years of sessions or a daily pill regimen — it promises a hard reset, a single profound experience that, in some cases, has helped addicts and war-torn survivors break free overnight.

For Perry, ibogaine represents something America has failed to offer its veterans: a real chance at healing.

For many, however, particularly those grounded in faith, ibogaine presents a philosophical dilemma. As a natural substance derived from Mother Nature herself, it could be viewed as a divine gift, offering new possibilities for healing the body and mind. On the other hand, some could argue that its hallucinogenic properties offer a shortcut of sorts — one that bypasses the hard work of healing through faith, prayer, and community.

The moral tension lies in whether embracing ibogaine represents trust in God’s providence or a step (a headfirst dive, even) into forbidden waters. Christianity, in particular, has long warned against intoxication and altered states of consciousness, cautioning that such experiences can open the door to deception, not divine truth. Scripture emphasizes self-control, discernment, and seeking healing through faith and family rather than chemical intervention.

Throughout history, altered states have been linked to pagan rituals, sorcery, and spiritual deception. The Bible repeatedly warns against seeking wisdom or healing outside God’s design, equating it with chasing false idols. From the Old Testament’s condemnation of witchcraft to the New Testament’s warnings about sobriety and vigilance, the message is very clear: true healing comes from a higher power, not from substances that melt the mind.

Yet, for those struggling with trauma so severe that traditional approaches offer no reprieve from the pain, rejecting a potentially transformative treatment may seem equally fraught. This is where the conflict deepens. If God created the natural world, does that include medicines with mind-altering effects? 

Beyond theology, Perry’s advocacy forces society to confront its broader relationship with substances and healing. The opioid epidemic has devastated entire communities, highlighting the limitations of current treatments — many of which are aggressively marketed by Big Pharma, an industry with absolutely no financial motivation to genuinely heal patients. The business model favors dependency over cure, keeping people trapped in a brutal cycle of medication, withdrawal, and relapse. Instead of seeking genuine solutions, pharma giants profit by transforming addiction into a lifelong condition, promoting a rather nefarious system that creates patients for life, from cradle to grave.

But does that mean ibogaine is the answer? Not necessarily.

Ibogaine might help some, but it feels like a leap too far. The science isn’t solid. The risks are real. And putting faith in a mind-altering drug to fix broken minds sounds a lot like replacing one problem with another.

Big Pharma is a disaster. It thrives on keeping people sick, hooked, and dependent. But the solution isn’t just swapping out one extreme for another. Opening Pandora’s medicine cabinet does not seem like a wise decision.

Real healing happens in communities, not in clinics or clinics disguised as “treatment centers.” People need purpose, structure, and support — not just another chemical reset.

Instead of chasing miracle cures, I suggest investing in what actually works. Strong families. Local recovery programs. Faith-based initiatives. Work that gives people dignity. A pill or a trip won’t rebuild a life, but connection can.

Rick Perry certainly isn’t high. His heart is in the right place. The system is broken. The 74-year-old knows this, and most Americans do as well. However, throwing psychedelics at the problem isn’t the way forward. There are better, safer, and far more proven ways to help people heal.

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