America's agricultural heartland has so far been largely insulated from President Trump's aggressive immigration enforcement campaign, but that sense of relative safety is wearing thin for farmers who depend on undocumented workers to keep their operations running. Nowhere is that anxiety more acute than in southern Idaho, where the state's sprawling dairy industry sits atop a workforce that industry leaders acknowledge is overwhelmingly unauthorized.
Rick Naerebout, chief executive of the Idaho Dairymen's Association, works from an office in Twin Falls with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Snake River Canyon, a dramatic 500-foot-deep gorge that cuts through the surrounding farmland. The canyon helped put the region on the national map in 1974, when stunt rider Evel Knievel tried and failed to leap it on a steam-powered rocket. Remnants of his ramp can still be spotted from Naerebout's vantage point.
These days, Twin Falls and the fertile river plain around it are known for something far more consequential: they anchor a multi-billion-dollar dairy sector that consistently places Idaho among the top five milk-producing states in the country. That success, Naerebout and other industry figures say, rests heavily on immigrant labor—much of it undocumented.
Naerebout estimates that as many as 90% of the workers at Idaho's roughly 350 dairies may lack legal status. The figure is treated as something of an open secret in a state that leans heavily Republican, according to reporting from the region. It is a reality that farmers rarely advertise but that agricultural economists and industry groups widely acknowledge.
"We're not taking jobs from Americans," Naerebout said, pushing back on a common argument in the immigration debate. He described dairy work as physically punishing and exposed to the elements year-round, conditions that he said make it deeply unattractive to domestic workers. The labor shortage, in his view, is not a matter of wages alone but of the nature of the job itself.
That argument carries significant weight in Idaho and across the rural Midwest, where similar dynamics play out on farms, ranches and meatpacking plants. Even before the recent wave of detentions and deportations, many producers reported difficulty filling positions. The pool of willing and available workers had already shrunk, leaving employers increasingly reliant on foreign-born labor.
Farm groups argue that the food supply chain is uniquely vulnerable to enforcement actions. Naerebout warned that a deliberate campaign targeting agriculture would carry severe consequences. "If we had a concerted effort to have enforcement activities within agriculture, you could really harm our ability to produce food to feed ourselves," he said.
His warning reflects a broader fear percolating through farm country: that the relative restraint shown toward agricultural employers could evaporate at any moment. Immigration and Customs Enforcement sweeps have continued across the nation, and while farms have largely been spared so far, producers know that policy can shift quickly.
The stakes are especially high for dairy operations, which cannot easily relocate or pause production. Unlike some crops that can be left in fields or harvested by machine, dairy cows must be milked multiple times daily, requiring a stable, year-round workforce. A sudden loss of employees would not simply reduce output—it could threaten the health of herds and the viability of individual farms.
Processing infrastructure adds another layer of exposure. In Burley, Idaho, a cheese plant stands as a reminder of how deeply dairy is woven into the regional economy. The state's milk production feeds not just fluid milk sales but also cheese, butter, yogurt and powdered milk operations that depend on a steady supply from local farms.
Economists note that rural communities built around agriculture have limited alternative employment options, meaning any disruption ripples through feed suppliers, veterinarians, trucking companies and equipment dealers. The multiplier effect of a dairy downturn would be felt far beyond the barn doors.
The political geography complicates the picture further. Idaho is a firmly Republican state, and Trump carried it comfortably in recent elections. Many farmers there support the president's broader agenda, including border enforcement, even as they quietly rely on the very workers that enforcement targets. That tension is rarely discussed openly.
Naerebout's association has tried to thread that needle, advocating for immigration policies that secure the border while also providing a legal pathway for the workers its members depend on. Industry groups nationally have made similar appeals, arguing that agriculture deserves a targeted visa program that reflects its unique labor needs.
For now, farmers are watching Washington warily. Every new enforcement announcement raises the question of whether agriculture's apparent exemption will hold. The answer, producers say, will determine not just the fate of individual dairies but the stability of the nation's food supply.
(0)