It begins like an American tragedy, written not in blood, but in omitted budget lines and frozen grant programs. Across the wide fields of Pennsylvania, where hope once bloomed, now lies the dust of Trump’s second term. Funds that helped small farms prepare for the whims of the climate were frozen - silently, bureaucratically efficient, politically cold. What remains are broken contracts, unemployed families, and a paralyzing loss of trust.
Die Organisation Pasa Sustainable Agriculture hatte jahrzehntelang das getan, was Politik selten schafft: Sie hatte Beziehungen aufgebaut, Vertrauen geschaffen, praktische Hilfe organisiert. Als der Klimawandel den Boden austrocknete, als Stürme Zäune und Ernten zerstörten, war es nicht Washington, das half – es war Pasa. Ihre Förderprojekte reichten vom Anlegen widerstandsfähiger Weiden bis hin zu Wasserleitungen für urbane Gärten in Pittsburgh. Es ging nicht nur um Landwirtschaft. Es ging um Zukunft. Doch mit Trumps Rückkehr ins Weiße Haus kam der Stillstand. Kein Geld. Keine Antworten. Kein Plan.
A Unprecedented Breach of Trust
Ebony Lunsford-Evans from 1 Sound Farm put it in one sentence that says it all:
"I cried - I was angry."
What is left for a farmer when her project - carefully planned, backed by loans, rooted in the local community - is devalued within days? When federal contracts, once seen as guarantees, are suddenly not worth the paper they’re printed on?
60 people at Pasa lost their jobs. People with dreams, with newly signed mortgages, with newborns in their arms. Not because the project failed, but because a government decided that rural climate funding was no longer opportune - even though it’s needed more than ever.
This breach is not just economic - it is moral. The same administration that now sabotages climate-smart agriculture has already launched plans for new billion-dollar farmer bailouts in its first months. Once again, those who voted for the trade war are to be compensated. Once again, billions in taxpayer money are being distributed to the same regions that actively supported Trump’s tariff policies - and are now to be shielded from the consequences of their own choices. These bailouts not only far exceeded the actual losses of the farms - they also came on top of an already generous network of government aid. Washington pays out roughly $20 billion in farm subsidies every year, even in boom times. When incomes drop, federally funded crop insurance kicks in. So those who receive regular subsidies, insurance payouts, and tariff compensation essentially benefit from a triple layer of state support - at the expense of taxpayers.
The widespread belief that such programs exist to protect poor family farms from crop failures and weather risks is a myth. In truth, agricultural subsidies are the largest corporate welfare program in the United States. Over the past decades, agriculture has transformed into a capital-intensive industrial sector. And that’s where the money goes: the top 10% of farms, which receive the lion’s share of subsidies, are expected to see an average net cash income of $572,000 this year - after expenses.
Where is the personal responsibility that Republicans so often preach when it comes to welfare in cities?
Someone applying for assistance in an inner-city neighborhood is seen by many conservatives as a moral problem. But someone demanding million-dollar subsidies in rural areas is considered systemically relevant. It is a shameless double standard, fueled by calculation and a hunger for power. And it’s nothing new.
Agriculture as a Symbol of the New Hypocrisy
For decades, the image of American farming has been shifting. The romanticized vision of the small family farm is long gone. Today, large corporations control the agricultural sector. The top 10 percent of farms receive the majority of all subsidies - with an average net cash income of $572,000 per year. Still, billions continue to flow into their pockets - through direct payments, tax breaks, and tariff compensation.
and tariff compensation.
A fitting term for it is "triple-dipping"- regular subsidies, insurance payouts, and now once again, bailout money.
Anyone who still talks about free markets here is practicing satire. The reality is this: agricultural policy is clientelism. And it is dominated by a lobby that openly co-governs in Washington. No one would admit that an energy law or health care bill was written by a corporation - yet with farm bills, not only is it allowed, it’s expected.
Climate resilience? Only if it turns a profit
Trump and Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins offered in the REAP lawsuit to release funds - but only if farmers rewrote their applications to comply with Trump’s new energy directives. In other words: only those who submit to the fossil fuel dogma of the new regime will receive help.
Attorney Hana Vizcarra aptly calls it a “disingenuous trick.”
"You can't change the rules in the middle of the game."
But that’s exactly what’s happening. And it affects not just farmers, but trust in the state itself. Smith-Brubaker puts it succinctly:
"Who would have thought you couldn't rely on a government contract?"
That statement should be engraved in the walls of the USDA - as a warning and an indictment.
The question remains: what follows trust? What happens when committed communities like Pasa, who were never in it for profit but for impact, lose hope? When small farmers realize that commitment, sustainability, and the common good only count as long as they fit the political narrative?
The answer is bitter: many will shut down. Others will scale back. And still others will think long and hard before ever cooperating with the US government again.
"We thought we were helping the world - now we’ll just help a little less," says Rob Dunning.
It’s a quiet sentence. But it echoes loudly. Because what is dying here is more than just a project. It’s the idea that politics and the common good don’t have to be mutually exclusive.
And all this in a country that likes to think of itself as the world’s beacon of hope.
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