Regenerative Farming Works—but the System Keeps It out of Reach

Commentary

When people ask, “Can we feed the world with regenerative agriculture?” I ask instead, “Can we afford not to?”

With soil erosion, collapsing microbiology, rising rates of chronic illness, infertility, declining sperm counts, autism, hormonal disruption, and widespread mental health challenges, is it responsible to continue a food production system that prioritizes volume over health, soil, and long-term land viability?

We are already paying—with poor human health and ecological breakdown—for the “cheap” food produced under our current agricultural system. If we believe in real food security and a future for our communities, we must ask why we continue to prop up this system when far more resilient, life-affirming alternatives have been proven effective.

It is a common myth that only industrial-scale farms can “feed the world.” In fact, many small farms produce more output per acre when measured holistically. But it’s also incorrect to claim that regenerative agriculture must be limited to small farms. There are profitable large-scale regenerative operations. Farmers such as Gabe Brown and Rick Clark, among others, have shown that it’s possible to manage thousands of acres profitably without synthetic chemicals. Their methods—chemical-free, no-till or minimal-till practices, integrated livestock, and soil restoration—yield nutrient-dense food without sacrificing financial viability.

Yet we must confront a difficult truth: Most successful regenerative farmers begin with privilege or external support. For many aspiring regenerative farmers, especially young or first-generation entrants, access to land is the biggest barrier. Often, they inherit debt-free land, work off-farm jobs to fund their operation, or rely on outside capital to weather the early low-return years. Rising land prices and inflation make it hard for others to enter the field.

Regenerative agriculture, as practiced today, often remains out of reach for most. Only a subset can manage the capital, cash flow, and risk required to transition. The rest remain stuck in the old, subsidized, commodity-driven system—not because they don’t value soil health or food integrity, but because they lack the financial runway to survive the break-even years.

Our current system directs land, labor, and capital toward high-volume commodity crops—corn, soy, wheat, and cotton—supported by subsidies and insurance safety nets. These policies favor monocultures and industrial scale, not diversified farms that prioritize soil and human health.

Much of what’s called “efficiency” in commodity agriculture—especially with corn and soy—is not the result of better farming but of public policy. Taxpayer-backed subsidies and insurance programs support large operations, even when they degrade soil or drain water resources. These safety nets make planting corn and soy a financial sure thing. Even if the soil is poor or a storm wipes out the crop, the farmer’s risk is socialized. They still get paid.

Meanwhile, farmers trying to do things differently—rebuild soil, diversify crops, integrate animals—face far greater risks. They don’t receive the same insurance guarantees. And the financial system—loans, land rents, input markets—is built around the assumption that commodity crops will continue.

Under the federal crop insurance program, a farm’s “approved yield” is based on its multi-year production history. Farmers select a coverage level, typically between 50 percent and 85 percent. If actual yield or revenue falls short, the insurance pays out. Many farmers also purchase “revenue protection” to shield against both crop failure and price drops.

Because of this, farms growing corn, soy, wheat, and cotton—even on degraded soil—can receive payments when production fails. From 2000 to 2016, producers received about $65 billion more in claim payments than they paid in premiums. This shows that crop insurance functions as more than just risk management; rather, it’s a subsidy that shifts risk from farmers to taxpayers.

It’s no surprise that many farmers feel trapped. They may know that their practices are harmful—leading to degraded soil, polluted water, chemical dependency, and human health impacts—but they’re caught between survival and stewardship. With debt, mortgages, land rent, equipment loans, and families depending on them, the insurance program becomes their safety net. Grow commodity crops and get a payout or try to do things differently and face real risk, often without institutional support.

Who gets rich under this system? Not the average farmer, drowning in debt. Not rural families hoping to pass on land. Instead, insurance companies, agribusiness giants, seed and chemical suppliers, and commodity processors reap the rewards while the public picks up the tab.

Public money supports large-scale industrial agriculture. And we pay twice: first, through taxes funding subsidies and insurance; second, through the health care system and environmental costs tied to degraded food, polluted water, and chronic disease.

Real farming, the kind that supports land, people, and future generations, should not be judged solely by short-term yield or profit. It’s about soil biology, fertility, resilience, nourishment, and ecological balance.

We must stop pretending that bigger, mechanized, subsidy-backed monocultures represent progress. In many ways, this “new” model is a mistake we’ve already begun to regret.

Instead of rewarding short-term extraction, we should invest in care, renewal, and long-term stewardship of land and people. Agriculture should respect soil, water, microbiology, and human health, not undermine them.

If we care about our children, our communities, and our long-term health, we cannot afford to stay on the path that subsidies have paved.

Because the cost is already being paid by taxpayers, by everyone who depends on food, and by our collective well-being.

If we are serious about humanity’s future—our food, land, farms, and health—we must demand better. We need a shift away from policies that reward fragility and extraction and toward those that support resilience, renewal, nourishment, and long-term value.

Because we’ve already been paying for harm. And every year of delay multiplies the cost.

Views expressed in this article are the opinions of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Epoch Times.