www.tillamookcountypioneer.net/a-point-of-personal-privilege-for-the-love-of-god-leave-oregons-farmers-alone/
POINT OF PERSONAL PRIVILEGE: For the Love of God, Leave Oregon’s Farmers Alone
Posted on Substack, 6/1/26
Oregon can protect animals without treating farmers, ranchers, hunters, and fishermen like suspects in a barnyard crime drama.
By State Representative Cyrus Javadi
There are moments in public policy when the only honest response is: please, for the love of God, we need to stop.
That is how I feel about laws that treat farmers like a problem to be managed instead of people doing work the rest of us depend on.
And that is how I feel about IP28.
Haven’t heard of it? Stand by. Because most Oregonians haven’t either. But they should.
Because if it passes, the people who pay the price will not just be farmers. Oregon families will pay it too.
The good news?
I don’t think IP28 has a scoop of Tillamook ice cream’s chance on a hot August day of surviving contact with Oregon voters.
Then why write about it this week?
Because the public needs to understand the pressure farmers face. Daily. From all sides. And how that pressure is affecting the price of the food they buy and eat.
And, importantly, because farmers need more people in public life to say the obvious thing out loud: they are being crushed. Not by one law, nor by one agency, nor by one bad season.
They are being crushed by the barn full.
The rules. The costs. The paperwork. The fuel prices. The fertilizer prices. The labor shortages. The lawsuits. The market swings. The land-use fights. The people who want local food, cheap food, humane food, organic food, abundant food, and perfectly regulated food, but somehow forget that actual human beings have to produce it.
So, yes, IP28 may not pass. But the thinking behind it is not going away. And that is why it matters.
How IP28 Landed on My Radar
IP28 landed on my radar this week in the way most things land on a legislator’s radar—from constituents.
People started writing to me about it. Then they kept writing. No matter which topic I wrote about somehow the comments would drift back to IP28.
You can write a post about roads, schools, the economy, or the weather, and the comment section will quietly decide, “Nope. Today we are talking about animal husbandry exemptions.”
But the timing mattered.
Because earlier this week, I posted about a Willamette Week article reporting that Oregon’s farming, fishing, and forestry workers have a suicide rate roughly five times higher than the Oregon average. Oregon’s overall suicide rate is already far too high. But for people working in farming, fishing, and forestry, the reported rate is over 123 deaths per 100,000 people (Oregon’s overall average is 24 per 100,000).
That is not a statistic you just scroll past. At least, it shouldn’t be.
The article talked about the stress carried by people in these industries. The debt. The isolation. The long hours. The uncertainty. The pressure of trying to keep land, boats, forests, or farms that may have been in a family for generations.
That was the context in which constituents started flagging IP28. And the connection was hard to miss.
Here we have farmers already under crushing pressure. Many are trying to hold together businesses that are more than, well, businesses. They are family histories. They are inheritances. They are identities. They are the thing grandpa built, dad held together, and the next generation may or may not be able to afford.
At some point, we need to ask whether Oregon actually wants farms or just likes the aesthetic of farms. Because we are very good at liking the idea of farming.
Farmers markets? Lovely. Local cheese? Absolutely. Pumpkin patches? Bring the kids. A cow on the side of a Tillamook Creamery semi-truck hauling ice cream? Practically a state mascot.
But actual farming? The real version? The one with debt, manure, weather, livestock injuries, market prices, equipment failures, fuel costs, fertilizer costs, regulatory paperwork, and the quiet fear that one bad year could end what your family spent generations building?
That part seems to make people uncomfortable. So they regulate it from a distance.
What IP28 Actually Does
So what is IP28?
IP28 is a proposed ballot measure that would change Oregon’s animal cruelty laws.
That may sound simple enough. After all, who is in favor of animal cruelty? Nobody normal. Nobody who should be allowed near a goldfish, let alone a dairy cow.
In Oregon, you cannot abuse animals. You cannot neglect them. You cannot starve them. You cannot beat them, torture them, or cause needless suffering. It’s immoral and it’s illegal.
Ok, so what’s the big deal with IP28? Keep reading.
What Oregon law also does, like every other state in the country, is recognize the difference between animal cruelty and lawful animal work.
That difference matters.
Under current law, Oregon says certain activities are not animal cruelty when they are done legally and properly. Farming is one of those areas. So is ranching. So is lawful hunting, fishing, trapping, livestock transport, slaughter, rodeos, wildlife management, pest control, agricultural research, teaching, and ordinary animal handling and training.
In plain English, current law says: abusing an animal is illegal, but raising animals for food, caring for livestock, managing wildlife, teaching agriculture, controlling pests, and hunting or fishing under Oregon law are not automatically treated as criminal animal abuse.
IP28 changes that.
It does not merely “strengthen animal cruelty laws.” That is the bumper sticker version. The actual legal move is much bigger.
IP28 removes many of the exemptions that currently separate animal cruelty from normal farming, ranching, hunting, fishing, and food production.
It removes the protection for good animal husbandry.
That means practices Oregon law currently recognizes as part of responsible livestock care, like dehorning cattle or castrating livestock when done according to accepted practices, would no longer have that clear protection in the animal cruelty statute.
It removes the protection for commercially grown poultry.
That means chicken and egg production would no longer sit outside these animal cruelty provisions in the way it does today.
It removes the protection for lawful livestock slaughter.
That means the act of killing livestock for food, even under Oregon’s slaughter laws, would no longer have the same protection from animal cruelty prosecution.
It removes the protection for lawful hunting, fishing, and trapping.
That means Oregon would still have hunting and fishing licenses on paper, but the animal cruelty statute would no longer clearly say those lawful activities are exempt.
It removes protections for wildlife management.
That matters when the state, tribes, farmers, or landowners have to deal with predators, diseased animals, invasive species, or animals damaging crops, livestock, roads, waterways, or habitat.
It removes protections for agricultural research and teaching.
That matters for universities, ag programs, veterinary training, livestock science, fish research, and the kind of practical education that helps people care for animals better, not worse.
It removes protections for reasonable pest control.
That matters if you have rats in a feed barn, mice in a home, nutria damaging waterways, or pests threatening crops, livestock, or public health.
It removes protections for reasonable animal handling and training.
That matters because animals do not live in theory. They have to be moved, restrained, separated, treated, loaded, trained, and sometimes protected from each other.
None of this means every farmer, hunter, fisherman, teacher, or backyard chicken owner is automatically going to jail the day after IP28 passes.
That is not the argument. The argument is simpler, and more serious.
Today, Oregon law draws a line between animal cruelty and lawful animal-related work.
IP28 erases much of that line.
And when that line disappears, the people most affected are not the worst actors. The worst actors already ignore the law.
The people most affected are the people trying to follow the law.
The farmer calling the vet about a sick cow. The rancher managing calves. The dairy trying to care for a large herd. The 4-H family learning how to raise animals responsibly. The small poultry farm producing eggs. The fishing guide trying to make a living. The hunter putting food in the freezer. The ag teacher showing students how livestock care actually works. The researcher trying to improve animal health or food safety.
These are not loopholes for cruelty. They are the legal space where real life happens.
Because agriculture is not made out of scented candles and Instagram captions.
Animals get sick. Animals injure each other. Animals need treatment. Some need to be separated. Some need painful but necessary procedures. Some need to be moved. Some are raised for food. Some pests have to be controlled. Some wildlife has to be managed. Some animals, eventually, are slaughtered.
That is not cruelty. That is food production.
And laws have to make room for reality.
IP28 does not.
That is why this measure is so dangerous. It takes a law meant to punish cruelty and aims it at the ordinary, lawful, necessary work of farming, ranching, hunting, fishing, teaching, research, and food production.
So no, IP28 is not just an animal welfare proposal.
It is a direct attack on the legal framework that allows Oregon to produce food, manage animals, and sustain rural life.
And that is why people are so alarmed.
What It Means to Be an Oregon Farmer
Oregon has roughly 35,000 farms.
Those farms cover about 15 million acres. Oregon farmers and ranchers produce more than 220 different products. We are not a one-crop state. We grow grass seed, berries, hazelnuts, wheat, pears, wine grapes, nursery plants, vegetables, hay, Christmas trees, and more. We raise cattle, dairy cows, sheep, poultry, and other livestock.
Agriculture is not a side character in Oregon’s story. It is one of the main characters.
And most farmers are not cartoon villains from a children’s movie. They are not sitting around in black hats asking, “How can we make life worse for the cows today?”
They are people trying to make a living in one of the hardest businesses in the world.
Many of these farms are family businesses. Grandparents. Parents. Children. Land passed down.
Kids learning to work before they fully understand that most other kids do not spend weekends moving irrigation pipe, feeding calves, stacking hay, checking fences, cleaning stalls, or riding along while an exhausted parent tries to fix something before the weather turns.
Farms carry pressure. Because when a farm fails, it is not just a business closing. It can feel like losing the family story.
It is also lonely.
Farming can be profoundly lonely work. Long days. Early mornings. Bad weather. Physical pain. Financial stress. Limited help. A culture that often teaches people to keep going, keep quiet, and not ask for help.
The average Oregon producer is close to 59 years old. That means a lot of Oregon farmers are carrying these burdens late into life, while also wondering whether the next generation can afford to take over.
And Oregon keeps adding pressure. More rules. More paperwork. More uncertainty. More costs. More people from outside agriculture explaining agriculture to the people who actually do it.
Then IP28 comes along with a proposal that would make ordinary farm practices legally riskier, while pretending that the only issue is whether you are for or against cruelty.
That is not serious. It is not fair. And it is not how a state that depends on agriculture should treat the people who feed it.
This Is How It Hits the Grocery Cart
Now, if you are not a farmer, you may be thinking: “Okay, I feel bad for farmers. But how does this affect me?”
Fair question. The answer is sitting in your refrigerator. Food does not just appear. It has to be produced.
And every time Oregon makes food harder to produce, more expensive to produce, or legally riskier to produce, that pressure eventually shows up somewhere else.
Usually in one of three places. Less supply. Higher prices. Fewer farms.
Sometimes all three.
That does not mean IP28 passes on Tuesday and your Wednesday omelet costs $48. Although at the rate eggs have been going, I hesitate to give the universe ideas.
The effect is slower than that. It works like pressure on a pipe.
One regulation may not burst it. One bad season may not burst it. One fuel spike may not burst it. One fertilizer shortage may not burst it. One new legal risk may not burst it.
But keep adding pressure, and eventually something breaks. That is what worries me. Because Oregon’s food system is already under pressure.
This Should Not Be a Partisan Issue
This is where I want to be very clear—this should not be a Republican or a Democrat issue.
It definitely should not be a rural-versus-urban issue, although we have a bad habit in Oregon of turning nearly everything into one.
If you eat food, you have a stake in whether Oregon farmers survive.
That is the coalition (Pretty broad, as coalitions go).
Farmers do not just feed Republicans. They do not just feed Democrats. They do not check your voter registration before producing milk, eggs, beef, berries, grain, cheese, or vegetables.
The cow is not partisan. The field is not partisan. The grocery bill is not partisan. And hunger is definitely not partisan.
So when we talk about IP28 or any law targeted at our farmers, we should not talk about it like another team-sport fight in Oregon politics. We should talk about it like adults talking about the food system we all depend on and too often take for granted.
I understand why people care about animal welfare. I care about it too. A decent society should not tolerate cruelty. But decency also means caring about the human beings on the other end of our policies.
The farmer trying to keep the family place alive. The rancher checking animals in bad weather. The dairy family working hours most people would never accept. The agricultural worker whose job depends on farms staying open.
The parent trying to buy groceries. The food bank volunteer trying to stretch limited supply across more hungry families. The kid whose dinner depends on whether the adults in charge understand that food does not appear by magic.
We can protect animals without treating farmers like villains. We can enforce cruelty laws without criminalizing normal agriculture. We can care about humane treatment without pretending that farms are petting zoos, meat comes from nowhere, milk comes from cartons, and cheese is born fully formed in the Tillamook visitor center gift shop.
We can be better than that. Or at least we should try.
Because the truth is, IP28 will most likely not pass. I do not think most Oregonians, once they understand what it does, will support something this sweeping and reckless.
But farmers should not have to wait until a bad idea becomes dangerous before anyone defends them. They should not have to flood comment sections just to be heard. They should not have to explain, again and again, that they are tired, overregulated, underpaid, isolated, and carrying more pressure than most of us can see.
They should not have to wonder whether the state they feed even understands them anymore.
That is why this matters.
So here is my ask.
We cannot say we care about hunger and then make it harder to produce food.
We also cannot say we care about working families and then support policies that push grocery prices higher.
And we really cannot say we care about rural Oregon and then treat farmers like suspects for doing work the rest of us depend on.
Food security is not just about helping people buy food. It is also about making sure food exists, that people can afford it, and that the people producing it are still in business next year.
If you care about local food, stand with farmers. If you care about grocery prices, stand with farmers. If you care about food banks and hungry families, stand with farmers. If you care about rural Oregon, stand with farmers.
Because farmers need more than sympathy. They need backup.
They need people in public life who will not wait until the last farm auction, the last dairy closure, the last food bank shortage, or the last family walking away from land they loved before admitting we pushed too hard.
For the love of God, leave the farmers alone.
