GLASLYN, Sask. – Dave Bailey loaded himself, some protest signs and his pride into his creaking 1970 Chevy grain truck and headed south.
He was going to North Battleford, where farmers were gathering Nov. 4 to protest a financial plight they say will push many out of the business.
The frosty morning finds Bailey confident – and defiant.
“We don’t want to dramatize it, but it’s a real problem,” he said about the cash crunch. “Everybody’s hurting.”
The grain truck rally scheduled for the afternoon was organized by a group of farmers from Mayfair, Sask., angry that their grain elevator was closing for the winter. This was the last straw for a farming community that finds its town shrinking, its rail rates rising and its future darkening.
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Their anger about the elevator closure grew into a general demand that someone, somewhere, should help farmers survive the year. They announced they would hold the grain truck rally in North Battleford, calling on farmers near and far to participate.
As Bailey kept an eye on the slippery road from a truck cab that never did warm up, he seemed bitter about the situation in which he and other farmers find themselves. His freight bill has doubled because of the end of the Crow benefit, costing him $20,000 – his margin – per year. The hype over value-added products and hogs hasn’t helped the local community where farmers are surviving by eroding their equity.
But he is happy that instead of just stewing about it, the rally allows him to do something. He is optimistic the rally will bring results, even though he’s not sure what farmers will demand, or who they will demand it from.
His relaxed face and voice stiffen, though, when asked what the public will think of farmers demanding government money.
“I don’t want anyone to think we have our hands out,” he said bitterly. “Subsidy? Other industries get incentives.”
When Bailey hits North Battleford he stops by an automobile dealer to pick up some spare parts for his truck.
Gerald Hardy, the parts manager, asks Bailey if he’s down for the rally, and tells him the dealership is putting its own vehicle into the cavalcade.
“This is a farming community,” Hardy said. “How farming goes, this town goes. Anyone who tells you any different is smoking something.”
Inside the Big Bid Barn, a local auction market, Bailey joins other farmers who have gathered from communities near and far, all wanting to do something.
Medstead, Sask., farmer John Schulkowsky and his son Kelly showed up early for the rally, hoping for something to happen to make things better.
“It’s extremely bad,” said Schulkowsky. “Grain prices are the same as when I started farming 30 years ago. Inputs are higher than ever.”
Schulkowsky can survive for a while, but he doesn’t know how young farmers will make it.
Kelly,16, skipped school to attend the rally because he’s thinking about becoming a farmer, a prospect his father seems none too sure about.
Jim Hugo, a Three Hills, Alta., farmer heard about the rally on his local radio station and decided he had to come.
“I’m glad to see someone’s finally doing something,” the 35-year-old grain farmer said.
The frustration and resentment that haunt Bailey appear in Hugo when he is asked what farmers need.
Hugo doesn’t like the idea of subsidies for agriculture. He wants the market to dictate what he earns. But he doesn’t know how farmers can compete if the free market is tainted by American and European grain subsidies.
“There might have to be a bailout,” he concedes unhappily.
Rolling protest
By 1 p.m., when farmers were told to start their engines, about 500 people had gathered, and a snaking line of more than 200 old and new grain trucks headed out to the highway.
In a slow procession, half funereal and half celebratory, the trucks crawled around the eastern side of the city, then down the main street, some farmers honking their horns to the urbanites who had come out to watch. At some farm supply outlets the entire staff seemed to be out in near-zero temperatures, smiling and waving and shivering at the miles-long protest.
A few minutes into the drive Bailey couldn’t help but grin at the sight of all the trucks ringing the city and the reaction of the city people.
“It’s funny how the adrenalin gets flowing,” he said.
It took more than an hour for the trucks to make their circuit.
Back in the barn afterward, farmers demanded farmers be helped. Local business leaders demanded farmers be helped. Politicians demanded farmers be helped.
Then the consensus broke down. Some said the problem was caused by the federal government, so the feds should pay up. Others said the provincial government needed to pay a share.
Exactly who pays didn’t seem to matter to Don Voss, a Spiritwood, Sask., farmer who angrily denounced government complacency and choked up when talking about the need for the rally.
“There is no reason any of us should be embarrassed coming here asking for help,” said Voss, who drew a standing ovation.
In the end, farmers supported a motion calling for a $40 per acre payment.
“I hope we’ve rung the doorbell,” said one.
As farmers filed out of the auction hall and milled around talking before heading back home, Bailey relaxed. The anxiety and excitement of earlier seemed to have worn off, replaced by a sense of accomplishment.
“I hope we got the message out,” he said.
