If government waste were an art form, the new farm bill would be the Mona Lisa. The lavish agriculture subsidies have few redeeming social or economic values. But as a work of politics, the bill is a masterpiece, and as with all masterpieces, it exposes larger truths. We are now routinely told that excessive private campaign contributions are corrupting Washington politics. The farm bill says otherwise. American democracy (it turns out) is more interesting, intricate and perhaps more corrupt than that.
Farm subsidies are a splendid example of old-fashioned politics: using public money to buy votes. It’s the quest for popularity and power, and not campaign contributions, that matters. Under the new bill, the subsidies are estimated to cost almost $200 billion over the next decade, or about $20 billion annually.
The point is to stabilize farm incomes–to prop them up in periods of low prices and thereby save “family farming.” The subsidies have existed in one form or another for almost 70 years, and there’s no evidence that they work. Farmers and farm workers accounted for 21 percent of the labor force in 1929, before the New Deal’s first agriculture legislation. Their share today is about 2 percent.
Bigger tractors, more fertilizer, better seed varieties and cultivation methods have promoted farm consolidation and larger harvests. In the 1940s, American farmers grew an average of 34 bushels of corn per acre; in 2001, the average was four times that, 137 bushels an acre. Government subsidies simply haven’t been able to overcome the pressures for bigger and more efficient farms.
The subsidies survive partly because they’re protected by the “iron triangle” of congressional committees, interest groups and government agencies (here, the Agriculture Department). Without farm programs, all would be less important. To sustain their power, farm legislators and lobbies “are willing to trade their votes for almost anything,” says economist David Orden of Virginia Tech, a longtime student of farm politics. In Congress, farm legislation also includes food stamps, a much more popular program with many more beneficiaries, now about 18 million. This makes it easier to attract the support of urban and suburban legislators.
But what increasingly protects farm subsidies is political competition. With Congress split–and control of the House and Senate hanging on a few races–swing voters must be courted. Both parties are in a bidding war. “They’re terrified,” says veteran reporter Jerry Hagstrom, who covers farm legislation for National Journal’s CongressDaily. “Farm voters have a history of switching. The key election that everyone remembers is 1986.” President Reagan tried to trim subsidies, and Republicans lost control of the Senate.
The result is much bipartisan hypocrisy. President Bush denounces excessive government spending, but he’s for the farm bill. Democrats such as Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle of South Dakota (a victor in that 1986 election) condemn budget deficits, but they’re enthusiasts for farm subsidies. The controversies over this bill mainly involve which farmers get the most subsidies and which politicians get the most credit. Perhaps some details reflect campaign contributions. But Hagstrom minimizes their role: “The amount of money that any one age group gives is so very small compared to all contributions.”
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If you doubt this, play a game. Assume there are no campaign contributions. “Reformers” have realized their dream of purging private money from politics. Campaigns are publicly financed through government handouts to candidates. In this idealized world, farm subsidies would almost certainly survive. All the political props would still remain: the “iron triangle,” the logrolling and the keen party competition for votes.
The larger truths are at once reassuring and disturbing. What’s reassuring is that private money has not on the whole corrupted politics. By and large, Congress and the president are trying to please and impress major groups of voters. What’s less reassuring is that this process also invites abuse. It’s not the buying of public influence with private money but just the reverse, on an astounding scale.
For the 2000 election, total spending and private campaign contributions–for everything from school boards to the presidency–came to about $4 billion over two years. By contrast, here are the White House and Congress doling out up to $20 billion a year to satisfy one tiny group of voters, with few (if any) public benefits. If that’s not corruption, what is it? Maybe, just democracy in action.