Every durable transformation in human history has begun not with policy, but with perspective. If we are to build a secure, prosperous, and sustainable society for generations to come, the transformation must begin in our thinking — away from money and power as ultimate measures of success, and toward the health and well-being of people and planet as the true indicators of prosperity.
By Chuck Woolery, Rockville, Maryland
In recent years, policy proposals from organizations such as The Heritage Foundation have emphasized expanding agricultural production, energy independence, and market-driven growth. On the surface, these goals appear aligned with national strength. Yet the deeper question is not how much we produce, but how we produce it — and at what long-term cost.
American agriculture today is dominated by large-scale monocropping, particularly corn and soybeans, heavily subsidized through federal farm programs shaped by powerful agribusiness interests. Corn, in particular, has become the backbone of industrial agriculture. It feeds livestock in concentrated animal feeding operations, supplies processed food ingredients such as high-fructose corn syrup, and is converted into ethanol fuel.
The ethanol program was promoted as a renewable energy solution. Yet critics across the political spectrum have long questioned its efficiency and environmental trade-offs. Estimates frequently cited in policy debates suggest that producing ethanol from corn can require substantial fossil fuel inputs for fertilizer production, farm machinery, irrigation, processing, and transportation. Some analyses have claimed that it can take roughly 2.5 gallons of fossil fuel energy to produce the equivalent of one gallon of corn-based ethanol fuel — though life-cycle assessments vary depending on methodology and technological improvements. Even where net energy gains exist, the system still depends heavily on fossil inputs and nitrogen fertilizers that degrade soil and waterways.
The larger issue is not simply energy ratios. It is the structure of influence.
Industrial monoculture farming favors scale. Scale favors capital. Capital favors consolidation. Consolidation favors political influence. When wealth concentrates, so does policy leverage. Large agricultural corporations and commodity groups maintain extensive lobbying operations that shape subsidy structures, crop insurance programs, and biofuel mandates. Meanwhile, small farmers seeking to transition to regenerative, diversified, or non-traditional farming systems often struggle to compete for land access, credit, and distribution networks.
Land prices in many regions reflect subsidy expectations. When federal programs guarantee revenue streams for commodity crops, land values rise accordingly. This makes it increasingly difficult for smaller producers — especially those wishing to practice soil-restorative methods such as regenerative grazing, agroforestry, crop diversification, or organic production — to enter or remain in farming. The result is not simply an economic shift, but a structural narrowing of agricultural imagination.
Yet soil itself tells a different story.
Healthy soil is not an inert medium for chemical inputs. It is a living ecosystem of fungi, bacteria, insects, and plant roots that together create resilience. Practices that rely heavily on synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, and repeated monocropping can reduce soil organic matter over time, increase erosion, and degrade water systems through runoff. In contrast, regenerative approaches aim to rebuild soil carbon, enhance biodiversity, and increase water retention — strengthening resilience against droughts and floods.
When we prioritize short-term yield and quarterly profit, we often externalize long-term costs: depleted soil, polluted waterways, rising healthcare burdens linked to ultra-processed foods, and increased greenhouse gas emissions. These costs are not borne equally. Rural communities face economic instability. Downstream communities face water contamination. Consumers face diets shaped by subsidy incentives rather than nutritional wisdom.
This is where the influence of wealth intersects with public health.
Commodity subsidies make calorie-dense processed foods cheaper than fresh produce in many areas. Industrial livestock systems rely on grain inputs that could otherwise feed people directly or support diversified cropping systems. Healthcare systems then absorb the downstream impacts of diet-related chronic diseases. The cycle reinforces itself: profits are privatized, while environmental and health costs are socialized.
A society that measures success primarily through GDP growth or shareholder returns risks missing a deeper measure of prosperity. True prosperity is measured by healthy children, fertile soil, clean water, resilient local economies, and civic trust.
This is not an argument against markets. It is an argument against allowing concentrated wealth to define public priorities without regard for intergenerational consequences.
History teaches that wealth will naturally seek influence. The question is whether democratic institutions are strong enough to balance influence with wisdom. When lobbying power outweighs ecological science, and campaign contributions outweigh long-term public health data, policy tilts toward profit maximization rather than system optimization.
Imagine an alternative framework.
Instead of subsidizing monoculture commodity crops primarily for industrial processing and fuel blending, policy could incentivize soil-building practices, diversified cropping, local food systems, and measurable improvements in land stewardship. Instead of evaluating success solely in terms of export volume, we could measure success by soil organic matter, water quality indices, rural income stability, and reductions in chronic disease prevalence.
In such a system, small and mid-sized farmers would not be forced to compete solely on scale. They could compete on stewardship, nutrition density, and ecosystem services. Markets would still function, but incentives would align with long-term sustainability rather than extraction.
This transformation begins with mindset. If we define prosperity as the accumulation of financial capital alone, we will continue to prioritize policies that maximize short-term returns. If we redefine prosperity as the flourishing of human and ecological systems, policy architecture changes accordingly.
The debate is not capitalism versus environmentalism. It is short-term concentration versus long-term resilience.
The health of a nation is inseparable from the health of its soil. The security of a society is inseparable from the stability of its food systems. And the durability of democracy is inseparable from its ability to ensure that wealth does not drown out wisdom.
When thinking shifts from money and power to health and intergenerational sustainability, profits need not disappear — but they become a byproduct of stewardship rather than its substitute.
In the end, the most enduring wealth is not measured in quarterly earnings. It is measured in the condition of the land we pass on, the vitality of the people we nourish, and the systems strong enough to serve generations yet unborn.
