From the WSJ Opinion Archives
SCENE & HEARD
Freedom Day
The Klamath farmers fight on.
Freedom. That was the theme Tuesday in Oregon's Klamath Basin, where thousands of people from more than five states came together to rally in defense of local farmers.
In April, the federal government cut off water from some 1,500 farms after environmental groups sued on behalf of "endangered" sucker fish. Since then, despite heroic efforts, the men in boots and cowboy hats have met insane obstacles trying to reclaim what is rightfully theirs. They've faced more lawsuits from environmentalists, a governor who refuses to take action, a Department of Interior desperate to avoid controversy and congressional Democrats who think a bottom-feeder is more valuable than a baby.
Yet despite disappointments, the farmers aren't giving up. In fact, if anything they've become more determined. Tuesday's rally, labeled Freedom Day, was their biggest yet. And, as the day proved, their fight is spreading. Over the long, hot months Klamath has become a rallying cry in rural communities across the West, which are demanding to run their property free of Beltway shenanigans. It's starting to resemble a rural rebellion.
While America's commentators are just now catching on to this, the split has been a long time coming. Even in the earliest days of America, urban areas held more sway over politics than rural ones--that's just reality. But what led to the big disconnect in urban-rural relations was the passage of several wide-sweeping federal laws in the 1970s--the Endangered Species Act, the Federal Land Policy and Management Act--that opened up a whole new glorious world of regulation and legislation to power-hungry Washington types. If urban communities and lobbyists previously had influence over broad policies, they now had the tools to interfere directly with private property owners' daily lives.
The fallout has been building, and today rural communities face an avalanche of intrusive, presumptuous, financially devastating regulations and resulting court decisions. Wetlands preservation, road bans, water cutoffs, pesticide laws, endangered-species habitat protections, "nonsource" water monitoring--all make property owners dizzy caring for every mangy animal, sick plant and speck of dirt to cross their property. Meanwhile, Eastern politicians, from the artificial environs of plush office buildings, lunch with the Sierra Club and call the shots.
We've seen flare-ups before, when a particularly egregious decision on behalf of an ugly little animal sets an area afire and captures the attention of the national media. The Tennessee snail darter, the spotted owl and the Red Hills salamander all had their moments in the sun. But the communities victimized by such environmental fundamentalism tended to be far-flung and lacking in organization. And that's what's different, and exciting, about Klamath.
Pickups, semis, log trucks, hay trucks and men in white cowboy hats mounted on horses with American flags paraded through the street to a crowd of thousands. A 12-foot steel bucket--a symbol of no water--was hoisted on to the sidewalk in front of the Klamath County Government Center, where rally members vowed it would stay until the farmers once again had full use of their water.
The crowds had signs, T-shirts, buttons and megaphones and spent all day chanting, singing and demanding. Farmers, politicians and entertainers delivered rousing speeches; radio and television stations converged on the city to provide live coverage throughout the day. The whole event was all the more poignant, given that the Bureau of Reclamation is due this week to turn off the small amount of water the farmers have been receiving.
Despite the ardent wishes of several liberal media outlets (the AP, ridiculously, labeled the rally "anti-government"; some newspapers did their best to tie the convoy with militia groups), the demonstration was entirely peaceful, and 100% all-American.
And Tuesday was simply the latest and biggest event. Farmers have been rallying at the water headgates every day; cities around the nation have been holding auctions and fund-raisers to drum up money for the battle; farm bureaus as far away as the East Coast have pledged support.
Several women have been looking farther ahead, registering people to vote, reminding them of the need to start making changes at the voting booth. Oregon's Gov. John Kitzhaber "has come down here to say he supports us, but his record on environmental policy, and his refusal to request an override of the Endangered Species Act, shows otherwise," one woman told me. "We plan to let him know we've remembered all this come election time."
The only organization that could offer immediate relief is the Interior Department, which runs the Bureau of Reclamation. Interior, however, despite Mr. Bush's campaign promises to remember rural parts of America, has seemed reluctant to take on the battle. In fairness, it also walked into a Clinton-created mess. It was partly the result of junk science from the Clinton-era Fish and Wildlife Service that environmental groups were able to sue for a water shutoff, and Interior now walks a fine line, having been dragged into court.
In the best of all worlds, Secretary Gale Norton would refuse to turn off the water this week and use Klamath to make a stand on junk science and the abuse of the Endangered Species Act. But given Interior's reluctance so far, this seems unlikely. The better bet at Interior may be in the long term. The hope is that Ms. Norton is busy getting rid of the green-enraptured junk scientists at the top layers of Fish and Wildlife and other agencies. This could lead to a more sensible interpretation of federal legislation.
But even if something doesn't happen this week, Klamath is making a difference. The show of solidarity has already had an effect on the voting habits of some politicians. In a recent Senate vote that would have returned water to the Klamath farmers, one of the two Democrats to cross the line and support the farmers was Oregon's Ron Wyden, an ardent environmentalist. The vote failed, but it was clear that Mr. Wyden had finally realized that in a state like Oregon, which Al Gore carried only narrowly, nothing could be taken for granted.
Meanwhile, property-rights groups are saying that they are beginning to see one of the first real movements in Congress to overhaul the Endangered Species Act. They attribute this to a softening stance of certain Democratic members, many of whom come from rural states and are feeling heat back home. Montana's Sen. Max Baucus, long a friend to green groups, recently appeared before a Senate committee to say he thought the act needed reform.
It's about time. In the weeks and months ahead, especially if the Klamath protests continue to gain support, we will undoubtedly hear the hysterical shrieks of environmental groups warning of doomsday. But the truth is that the pendulum has shifted too far. Environmental groups have crossed the line from responsible stewardship to insane regulations meant to force people off their own land. It's time to swing back to the side of reason. And bravo to the Klamath farmers for starting that pendulum back toward center.
Ms. Strassel is an assistant features editor of The Wall Street Journal's editorial page. Her column appears on alternate Thursdays.
