Under a large tent at the Crook county fairgrounds in Prineville, Oregon, six people stand in a neat line, each clutching the gun in their holster. “Shooters, set,” a man to the side yells. They wait. A light turns on in the centre of the target. They fire. A clock above records how long it took them to draw, shoot and, if they managed to, hit the target. They’re playing in pairs. Best two out of three wins.
Welcome to Oregon’s Cowboy Fast Draw State Championship, a sport organisers say is “dedicated to the romance and legend of the Old West”.
The residents of Prineville are voting on 21 May on a fundamental question: “Should Crook county represent that its citizens support efforts to move the Idaho state border to include Crook county?” If a majority votes yes, the county will become the 13th to vote in favor of leaving the state of Oregon and joining next-door Idaho instead. Polarisation breeds frustration which creates secession. America’s past and present.
Calvin Foster, who competed under the name of Scrub Brush, is the man in charge of affairs at the Fast Draw, and he sums up his political frustration.
The cities “don’t understand the life that we have out on this side of the state”, he says.
The majority of Oregon’s just over 4 million residents live on the western side of the Cascade Mountains, which run down the centre of the state. To the west lie high-density cities like Portland, Salem and Eugene, which in past years have voted largely Democratic. To the east are sparsely populated counties that have reliably voted Republican. Democrats have held the governorship since 1987.
The presidency of Donald Trump and the Covid pandemic have heightened divisions – with different groups starkly diverging on how they think the state should move forward. Crook county voted for Donald Trump, a Republican governor, against decriminalising drugs and against restrictions on gun ownership. The state went the other way every time.
Foster explains what he sees as the difference between west and east: that the culture out here is about family and guns. “I’ve grown up with guns, been shooting guns since I was probably five,” he said as we sat on the bleachers and watched the competition. “It’s a right that we’ve had and hopefully we keep forever.”
That life is one of farmers and ranchers, said Jim Bunch (competing as Jabberin’ Jim, a nickname his wife chose), a livelihood that he says city folk don’t appreciate. “People that think that livestock is bad, that cutting timber is bad, that farming is bad. They want to get rid of agriculture. They want to get rid of us being able to control our own lives.”
People here believe the other side is forcing their ideals on them. One thing that comes up again and again is not just “family” values, a nod to Oregon’s progressive stance on abortion and LGBTQ+ rights, but the green economy. Foster said electric cars were what really irk him. Larry Lansdowne, a shooter from Idaho, said he understood his neighbours’ frustration.
“We really don’t want you to come here and start telling us about why you can’t carry that gun or you need to drive an electric car,” he said. “We’ve been living this lifestyle for hundreds of years and we really just don’t want to change.”
The most extreme stance I heard was from Bunch. “We don’t have a democracy, we are a constitutional republic,” he said. I asked him what he meant by that distinction.
“We have a constitution that lays down the laws for us. As a republic, the individual is protected. So the minority can be protected. It’s not just majority rules.”
“So you feel at the moment that democracy, especially within Oregon, isn’t working for you?”
“Oh, democracy doesn’t work,” he said, emphatically.
If democracy does not work for supporters of annexation, they are pursuing democratic means to change it.
The Greater Idaho movement was set up in 2019 and has campaigned to put its measures on the ballot. Its current proposal would see 14 counties move states, along with sections of three others. Originally, the plan included five more counties in south-western Oregon, but after two voted against the proposal, the movement scaled back its ambitions.
Moving the state lines is a tall order, given that both Oregon and Idaho legislatures would have to agree, along with the respective governors, and then for Congress to approve the matter. But the movement argues history shows this can happen. West Virginia was formed after separating from Virginia in 1863, and Maine was created by cutting itself off from Massachusetts in 1820.
I spoke with Matt McCaw, the group’s executive director. He and his wife lived in Portland, Oregon’s largest city, for 20 years before moving east because on “almost every issue”, abortion, LGBTQ+, guns, drugs, McCaw was opposed to the progressive measures enacted by state legislators. He said that while there had always been this urban-rural divide, it had become worse recently.
“Our whole country got more polarised with Donald Trump,” he said as we chatted at Smith Rock State Park. “And then Covid just drove a wedge through all of it. Oregon was very heavy on lockdowns. They closed schools. They forced masks on people. People in western Oregon wanted that. The people in eastern Oregon were opposed to those policies.”
McCaw and his wife are evangelical Christians, and faith is “first and foremost in every decision we make”, he said. “They were telling us, ‘You can’t go to church.’ Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that my government would say, ‘You can’t go to church.’” He said Covid showed him you need a government that aligns with your values. Idaho, McCaw said, fits that bill.
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The problem, I put to McCaw, is that this would lead to a nation where democracy is redundant. Everyone would split into their Democratic and Republican states and just stick with it. The divided states of America.
“You’re saying we shouldn’t divide up, because that will cause things to be more polarised. But if you leave these people together, it’s not going to change. The two cultures are drifting further apart and want different things. If you continue to force people that want polar opposite things together, that is not a productive or healthy way to run a society.”
In a flip of the state-wide picture, it is progressives who are in the minority in Crook county. Outside the courthouse one Sunday, I chatted with Priscilla Smith, chair of the county’s Democrats, who was leading a small rally against the Greater Idaho movement. About 20 people were holding banners that said “We Love Oregon … all of it” or “Oregon, Yes, IdaNo”. One person was wearing a pro-Ukraine T-shirt.
For Smith, this is also about family values. “My concern is for my granddaughters,” she said, wearing a bright blue hoodie bearing Oregon’s state seal. “What happens to their health if we become part of Idaho?” Idaho has a near-total ban on abortions.
One sign at the protest read “Oregon values are my values.” I asked Priscilla what those were. “My values are that we treat everyone equally. Especially because I have a trans grandson. That we care about everyone. The proponents [of Greater Idaho] think our values in this part of the state align more closely with Idaho. Well, mine don’t. So they don’t speak for everyone.”
Tom Andersen a Democratic, represents a district on the western side in the state legislature. I asked him whether his party was at fault for allowing a movement like Greater Idaho to emerge.
“I think fault is a pretty strong word, but I say part of the responsibility is that the Democrats have not listened to the other side,” he said.
“We could do better. We need to listen to them. They feel that their needs have not been addressed by the whole state of Oregon.”
Andersen warned that while it was worth engaging with the Greater Idaho movement, the idea of splitting the state was a concern, given it may send a message to other states to do the same. “That would open a Pandora’s box, a slippery slope,” Andersen said, and one that could lead to a situation where “democracy does fall apart”.
“Dear Father, we thank you for the opportunity and the freedom in this country to come together and to discuss issues like this.”
Mike McCarter, the president of the Greater Idaho movement, was leading a prayer at the start of a question-and-answer session hosted by McCaw at the Crook county library in Prineville. About two dozen people turned up. On one side, a few men sat silently with “Trump” hats on. Across the aisle sat Priscilla Smith alongside some people from the rally.
She took the microphone. “My first concern is the fact that Idaho has one of the strictest abortion rights laws in the nation,” Smith asked, adding, “The other thing I have a real angst about with Idaho is their position on LGBTQ. I have a grandchild who’s trans. How is their life going to be affected?”
McCaw and Smith then bickered over the details of Oregon’s abortion laws, before McCaw summarised: “The bigger point of all that is that people have very different, very strong opinions on abortion. And the same thing is true with trans kids.” He said these were the two hottest topics that spoke to the great divide.
After that, the debate was cordial. One older man in a cowboy hat did call the politicians in Salem “heathens”. Yet there were no heated back-and-forths, just a few mutters and murmurs in agreement or disagreement.
As people began to get up and leave amid a smattering of applause, McCaw ended the proceedings: “There’s no easy way out of it. I wish there was,” he said.
Oregon’s Border Battles from Kiran Moodley of Channel 4 News is available via Channel 4 News here.
