WAWG
By Andy Juris
Klickitat County grower and Past President,
Washington Association of Wheat Growers
The hardship of the past
Things were bad. So bad, that no one could remember a time when they weren’t. The price of wheat hit an all-time low, just 25 cents, barely half of what it cost to grow. Rain had failed for four straight years, leaving the land cracked and lifeless. No one could even recall what green looked like.
Families were being wiped out. Not anonymous names in the newspaper, but neighbors, friends, kin. Another farmer was found yesterday, hanging in his barn. He had given everything to that farm, everything to his family. After his wife died — leaving behind nine children and a baby — he simply could not bear to lose one more thing.
Hard times forge hard people. That’s the saying. But those words fall short of describing what small farming communities across America endured nearly a century ago. The men and women who survived emerged with a new perspective, a deeper gratitude, and a determination to ensure agriculture would never again come so close to collapse. They knew that civilizations rise and fall on the strength of agriculture, and they vowed not to let it happen on their watch.
The legacy they built
So, they went to work. Out of their resolve were born organizations like the Washington Association of Wheat Growers and the Washington Grain Commission, alongside policy initiatives that became the backbone of today’s farm bill, crop insurance, and disaster assistance. They also answered the call abroad, fighting in the Pacific, in Europe, in Korea. They built industry, fueled America’s rise as a global power, and stood guard during the Cold War. Their grit, tempered in hardship, forged an era of prosperity and peace that shaped the modern world.
Times were good. Perhaps too good.
Our complacency
“Sedentary culture is the goal of civilization. It means the end of its lifespan and brings about its corruption.” —Ibn Khaldun
Because in the decades since, we — sons and daughters of their sacrifice — have grown comfortable, complacent, and too often self-absorbed. Where hardship once united family farms into a common cause, prosperity has bred division, entitlement, and neglect. Instead of asking what we can build for those who follow, too many of us ask only what we can take for ourselves.
This decline is visible in our communities. Where once neighbors volunteered freely, whether for school, church, or civic duty, today, excuses are abundant. “I’m too busy. The kids have activities. I’m not interested.” Yet, when we examine the hours worked, it is clear we are not busier than our grandparents who labored 10–12 hours a day, year-round. We simply choose to spend our time elsewhere, indulging in comfort rather than embracing responsibility. The irony should not be lost on any of us that far too many will willingly shut down harvest or seeding for a football game, but scoff at the idea of attending a meeting that will shape the future of their industry.
A stern warning
Is it wrong to have it better? Of course not. But the abundance we inherited has not produced a generation equal to its responsibility. To be blunt, too many of us in agriculture have grown entitled, lazy, and unwilling to lead. Meanwhile, American agriculture faces an uncertain future. Populations are shifting, farmland is being bought by corporations and equity firms, prices remain volatile, and input costs soar. Farmers are disappearing and, with them, a way of life.
How did we arrive here? In part, by our own refusal to lead. Too often we have told ourselves, “Someone else will do it. This just isn’t my kind of thing.” That abdication has eroded our trade organizations and weakened our collective influence. Thus, we must collectively own this failure. We have turned our backs on the mantle handed to us by our ancestors and abandoned the responsibility to shape the future of our industry.
The hope ahead
So, what now? Is it too late?
The hour is late, but not beyond redemption. I know this because I have seen what a few committed men and women can do when they put service above self. I have seen them sacrifice time, energy, and money to advocate for agriculture’s future. But they are too few, and they cannot succeed alone. Great things are never built in secret by a handful of the prideful. They are built openly, humbly, with determination, and together.
I know my words will step on toes. So be it. I will not apologize for speaking plainly. The truth is that most of us have been idle watchkeepers, distracted by our comforts and too timid to take up the mantle of leadership. We risk realizing our failure only when our wallets grow thin and our farms are gone.
Yet there is hope — if we choose to act. Our great-grandparents faced ruin in the Dust Bowl of the Great Depression, and from that crucible, they reshaped American agriculture and secured its future. We, too, face a crisis. The question is whether we will rise as they did, or shrink back into comfort while everything they built slips away.
The choice is ours. But time is short.