Give me a break. I just read that Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent, a man whose net worth Forbes clocks in at a cool $600 million, had the audacity to look into a camera and say, "I’m actually a soybean farmer. I have felt this pain, too."

He said this with a straight face.

Let's just sit with that for a second. A guy who treats millions of dollars the way the rest of us treat loose change in the car's cup holder is trying to sell us on the idea that he’s out there in overalls, chewing on a piece of straw, worrying about whether the co-op will give him a fair price this season. It's not just insulting; it's a masterclass in political theater so brazen, so utterly disconnected from reality, that you almost have to admire the sheer nerve. Almost.

This is a bad idea. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—this is a five-alarm dumpster fire of political messaging. It’s a billionaire putting on a hard hat for a photo op at a construction site he’s about to bulldoze for a new condo complex. Does he really think anyone with a brain cell left is buying this performance? Or is that the entire point—to demonstrate so clearly that the people in charge can say literally anything, no matter how absurd, and expect us to just nod along?

The Millionaire's Hobby Farm

Let’s get into the nitty-gritty of Bessent’s "farm." According to his own financial disclosures, this patch of land in North Dakota is worth somewhere between $5 million and $25 million. It pulls in an income of between $100,000 and a million bucks a year. For you or me, that’s life-changing money. For Scott Bessent, it’s a rounding error. It’s the financial equivalent of finding a forgotten $20 bill in an old coat pocket.

His total net worth is $600 million. His farm income, at its absolute highest, accounts for 0.16% of his total wealth. Claiming this makes him a "farmer" is like me buying a single share of Apple stock and calling myself a tech mogul who understands Tim Cook's pressure. It’s a joke.

And the "pain" he’s feeling? A Treasury spokesperson, in a moment of what I can only assume was unintentional comedy, told CNN for its story, A ‘soybean farmer’ himself, Treasury Sec. Bessent said he’s feeling ‘pain’ from China, too, that the Secretary has "written off or experienced opportunity losses of nearly $100 million since assuming office." Oh, the humanity! A man worth over half a billion has experienced opportunity losses. Meanwhile, actual farmers are experiencing actual losses. They're losing their homes, their land, their family legacies.

Bessent’s farm isn’t a livelihood; it’s a prop. It's a political costume he pulls out of the closet when he needs to cosplay as a man of the people. He’s being forced by the Office of Government Ethics to sell it off by December 15th because it’s a glaring conflict of interest, and he’s dragging his feet, calling it an "inherently highly illiquid asset." Offcourse, a multi-million dollar piece of real estate is hard to move. But is he worried about it the way a real family worries about foreclosure? Is he staring at the ceiling at 3 a.m., the cold dread washing over him as he imagines the auction signs going up on the lawn? I’m going to go out on a limb and say no.

A Different Kind of Pain in Minnesota

Now, let's leave the Beltway fantasy world and visit a place called Elgin, Minnesota. This is where Jake Benike, a 36-year-old sixth-generation farmer, works a 1,700-acre farm with his father. You can practically smell the rich soil and hear the low rumble of the combine in the distance, a sound that’s been the soundtrack to his family for over a century. For the Benikes, farming isn't a line item on a disclosure form; it's blood, sweat, and identity.

Because of this trade war that Bessent is so casually navigating from his Treasury office, the Benike family is facing an existential threat. China, once the biggest buyer, has vanished. Jake said it perfectly: "We might have lost our soybean market."

Read that again. It’s not an "opportunity loss." It’s the potential annihilation of a way of life. He’s wondering if he’ll have to tell his grandkids that growing soybeans is "just something that South America does" now. That’s the real pain. It's the gnawing uncertainty of making decisions for next year when you don't even know if your primary customer will ever come back. It's watching six generations of work, sacrifice, and tradition potentially evaporate because of decisions made by men who think farming is a cute hobby.

And what does our farmer-in-chief, Secretary Bessent, have to say to people like Jake? He promises that after some big announcement, soybean farmers will "feel very good." It’s the political equivalent of "Don't worry your pretty little head about it." It's condescending, empty, and utterly useless to a family trying to figure out if they can keep the lights on through the winter. This whole situation just reminds me of how broken everything is. You have one group of people making decisions and another group of people living—or dying—with the consequences, and they ain't ever going to be in the same room.

Maybe I'm just too cynical, but when a man who could buy and sell your entire town tells you he understands your struggle, he's not offering empathy. He's demanding your silence. He's telling you that his performance of solidarity is all you're going to get, and you should be grateful for it. And honestly, I'm just so tired of the show...

It's Not a Farm, It's a Costume

Let's be brutally honest. Scott Bessent isn't a farmer. He's a landlord. He owns an asset that other people work. His connection to the "pain" of the American farmer is purely theatrical. This isn't about shared struggle; it's about a member of the ruling class using the language and symbols of the working class to sell a policy that benefits his own. It’s a cynical and deeply offensive charade, and the fact that they think we're dumb enough to fall for it is the biggest insult of all.