Showing Up Is Not the Same as Being Heard

I didn’t know how to vote last election.

Not because I didn’t care—but because I couldn’t find a party that reflected what I believe in. I don’t think I’m alone in that. Many in agriculture are quietly feeling the same disconnection.

Traditionally, we’re seen as conservative. Aligned with certain parties. Predictable. But I’m starting to question whether that narrative has kept up with the complexity of what it actually means to be a farmer today.

Because beneath the surface, a reckoning is underway.

It’s not loud or angry. But it’s firm. Farmers are starting to push back—not just on policies, but on the assumptions that have shaped their place in political and public life. Generosity is being mistaken for consent. And endurance is being mistaken for agreement.

This article isn’t about blame. It’s about reflection. And a shift that’s long overdue.

Farming Is a Business—And a Responsibility

Like most producers I know, I don’t just work the land—I manage risk, cashflow, compliance, and people. I’m running a small-to-medium enterprise exposed to variables most industries are shielded from: drought, flood, market volatility, global politics. There’s no fixed income. No safety net.

That kind of exposure shapes your worldview. It makes you careful. Resilient. Strategic. But it also makes you deeply accountable—to your family, your community, your environment. These aren’t abstract values. They’re daily decisions.

And yet, when agriculture is portrayed politically, those nuances are flattened. We’re either used as a symbol—or quietly ignored.

Culture: Contribution Without Confrontation

Farmers are generous with their time and knowledge. It’s part of the culture—help your neighbour, support the industry, get the job done. But that generosity is increasingly being misread as blanket agreement.

We show up to the table. We share data. We trial new systems. But when the final decisions are made—on emissions, on traceability, on market access—our input often disappears. Policies are imposed without context. Consultation feels performative. The assumption seems to be: if we’re participating, we must be consenting.

That’s not how consent works. And it’s not how partnerships are built.

Politics: Assumed Alignment Without Representation

I grew up assuming agriculture was ��represented.” That we had a political home. But lately, I’ve felt that slip.

What once felt like alignment—shared values of work ethic, self-reliance, contribution—now feels like drift. As Gabrielle Chan observed, agriculture has been caught in identity battles it didn’t choose. The political platforms that claim to speak for us are often speaking about something else entirely—mining, gas, infrastructure. Not food production. Not rural communities. Not us.

And it’s not just political parties. Some of our peak bodies have long aligned themselves with particular parties, often under the assumption that those relationships serve industry interests.

But what happens when those parties no longer represent the diversity or priorities of the sector? When policy platforms shift, or political alliances dilute the focus on agriculture altogether?

It leaves producers feeling misrepresented—twice over. Not only are political narratives drifting, but the very organisations meant to advocate for us risk becoming echo chambers for a system that no longer serves.

Alignment with power is not the same as representation. And advocacy that fails to adapt becomes part of the problem.

At the same time, electoral redistributions are redrawing the map—consolidating or removing rural seats, and shifting the balance of power toward urban centres. These changes might be technical, but their impact is deeply personal. With fewer rural voices in Parliament, the question of who speaks for agriculture becomes even more urgent.

Meanwhile, farmers are being asked to do more with less. To reduce emissions. To meet international standards. To comply, report, and adapt. And often, to do so with minimal support.

Why Hasn’t There Been a Political Reckoning?

It’s a fair question. One that’s been sitting just below the surface for years: If agriculture has been misrepresented for so long—why hasn’t it pushed back harder?

There are several reasons. None of them about apathy.

Because agriculture keeps showing up. Farmers continue to contribute—to forums, trials, consultation processes—often unpaid, often unheard. That contribution becomes the evidence of engagement, used to justify policy decisions. Showing up has been mistaken for agreement.

Because endurance is cultural. There’s pride in getting the job done without complaint. Escalating concerns publicly goes against the grain for many. But that same restraint can lead to delay—and silence mistaken for consent.

Because the political system doesn’t make room for complexity. Party lines reward simplification. Yet agriculture operates in complexity—seasonal, economic, environmental, regulatory. When you're running a business and a landscape at the same time, your needs don’t fit neatly into ideological boxes. And so, they’re overlooked.

Because some advocacy groups chose access over accountability. When industry bodies align with political parties to maintain access, they risk losing their edge. When the party shifts, but the advocacy remains aligned, members are left unrepresented—even misrepresented. That’s caused drift, not disruption.

And because electoral redistributions are weakening rural leverage. Fewer regional seats mean fewer direct advocates. It’s not just a numbers game—it’s a visibility issue. Policy platforms increasingly prioritise metro voices over primary production.

Something is shifting. It’s not loud, but it’s real.

Farmers are starting to say no—to unpaid contributions, to performative consultation, to being the evidence base without the power base. They’re questioning where their voice actually lands.

And then came Keep the Sheep.

That moment wasn’t just about live export. It was about agency. Producers travelled to cities. They stood on Parliament lawns. They pushed back—not with rage, but with resolve.

It was a reminder that endurance is not endless. That generosity isn’t permission. And that silence doesn’t mean consent.

This Isn’t About Blame

Ministers, departments, even industry leaders—they’re part of systems that don’t always allow for nuance. I don’t believe most people are acting in bad faith. But I do believe we’ve built structures that no longer serve the sector they were intended to support.

If agriculture is going to be part of Australia’s future—economically, socially, and environmentally—we need more than token inclusion. We need genuine respect.

And in a time of shrinking electorates and growing political distance, producers are learning that endurance isn’t enough. We must be seen. We must be counted. And we must speak for ourselves.