Postcards from the Rogue Valley

Here in Southern Oregon, few roadside attractions are more iconic than the Oregon Vortex and its famous House of Mystery — a crooked little shack perched above a creek where the ordinary laws of physics seem more like suggestions than rules.  “Visitors to the Vortex have long experienced the strange effects for themselves,” a promotional brochure explains. “Inside the House of Mystery, balls appear to roll uphill, people seem to grow taller or shorter simply by changing where they stand, and gravity itself appears to tilt at impossible angles.”  

When a flood a year ago turned the almost 100-year-old attraction upside down, one local reporter memorialized the House of Mystery as “a manifestation of paradoxes.”

The same might be said of Oregon’s politics and its determination to be a “laboratory of democracy.”

Oregon has long cultivated a reputation as a pioneer in progressive legislation, often positioning itself at the forefront of social and environmental policy in the United States. It is famous for the “Oregon System,” a set of reforms established in the early 1900s that shifted power from political machines directly to the people (a campaign led by a young lawyer named U-Ren who earned the nickname “Referendum U’Ren”). There have been over 400 state ballot measures in Oregon since 1904.

Some of these ballot measures have yielded head-turning firsts. Oregon was the first state in the country to decriminalize marijuana (1973), to allow the terminally ill to end their lives voluntarily (1997), and to enact voting by mail for all elections (1998).

For its part, the Oregon legislature has passed landmark land-use planning laws designed to curb urban sprawl. Policies supporting environmental protection, drug decriminalization, and minimum wage increases further reinforce Oregon’s identity as a laboratory for forward-thinking reform.

“As Oregonians, we share a deep optimism for a better future,” wrote then State Treasurer Ted Wheeler in 2013 in OregonLive the largest local news source in the Pacific Northwest. “From the time of the Oregon Trail, we have understood that a better future won’t just happen by accident or by sticking with the status quo.” Readers roundly agreed.

In Contrast

This progressive image, however, exists alongside a less celebrated reality: Oregon consistently ranks near the bottom among U.S. states in public spending on critical social investments.

Oregon, for example, is far behind most other states when it comes to funding public universities. It currently ranks 46th in the nation in per-student state funding for public universities (Oregon Public Broadcasting, March 10, 2026). Hard-hit Southern Oregon University, here in Ashland where I’ve been actively involved for six years, recently announced that it would not have enough money to cover its payroll in a year. 

Chronic underfunding in mental health has put Oregon underwater (last in the nation) when it comes to the prevalence of mental illness and substance use issues among adults and youth. Indeed, Oregon has some of the worst mental health outcomes in the U.S., with one in three adults reporting mental illness. 

Sometimes, it’s not the funding but the implementation that falls woefully short. 

Although Oregon’s per pupil spending on K-12 education places it in the middle of the pack nationally, it ranks 47th in reading and math proficiency (helped by its refusal to demand that schools and teachers adopt proven best practices in literacy instruction). It also has one of the highest rates of chronic absenteeism in the country at 38 percent, compared to a 23 percent national average. (Meanwhile, Oregon school vaccination rates are among the lowest in the country.) 

Homelessness presents another disparity. Oregon has one of the nation’s highest rates of homelessness and unsheltered individuals, prompting historic, high-level state funding, including over $2 billion proposed for 2025-2027 to address the crisis. Nonetheless, despite several years of relatively generous financial support, Oregon ranks 48th out of 50for the share of its population experiencing homelessness (U.S. News and World Report, Jan. 13, 2025).

Ballot Measure 101, approved by Oregon voters in 2020, decriminalized personal possession of illicit drugs and redirected cannabis tax revenue toward treatment. However, the state’s ranking for access to substance use disorder treatment fell to 50th in the nation (drugdecrimoregon.com).

Indeed, a quick review of implementation in relation to these legislative investments turns up references to “persistent structural and operational weaknesses,” “a revolving door that relies on jails and hospitals rather than preventive care,” “a misguided connection between housing and homelessness.” 

It doesn’t take a degree in political science to see that Oregon’s experience highlights a broader lesson. Lasting change depends on sustained investment, careful implementation, and a willingness to match ideals with resources. (In a day of opinions, I offer these as truths.)

The Urban-Rural Divide

As a “laboratory in democracy,” few other states in the country manage such a distinct and deep-rooted urban-rural divide, adding a pervasive layer to Oregon’s political identity.

Interstate 5 is more than just a major transportation corridor in Oregon. It is the physical and symbolic backbone of the state’s economic, cultural, and political life. Running north to south, I-5 connects Oregon’s largest population centers, including Portland, Salem, and Eugene, forming what is often called the “Willamette Valley corridor.” (Interestingly, when I-5 north descends from the Umpqua National Forest into the Valley’s mouth, it is green farmland dotted with Black Angus cattle and yet-to-be-shorn sheep that meet the eye.) This Willamette Valley Corridor contains the majority of the state’s population and is the heart of its progressive political influence.

The cities along I-5 tend to be more urban, diverse, and economically dynamic than much of the rest of the state. Portland needs no introduction. While the long-running television series Portlandia introduced us to the city’s eccentric hipsters, its reputation for progressive activism is more on the mark. When Ted Wheeler resigned from his post as State Treasurer to become Mayor of Portland, he was teargassed by federal agents in July 2020 when he opposed the agents’ tactics as unconstitutional. 

Eugene shares a similar culture, shaped in part by the presence of the University of Oregon, while Salem — as the state capital — is where many of these progressive ideas are translated into law through the Oregon State Legislature.

Because I-5 makes travel and commerce between these cities fast and efficient, it reinforces their interconnectedness. Businesses, workers, students, and political organizers move easily along this corridor, creating a shared regional identity. Media markets, advocacy networks, and statewide campaigns also tend to concentrate here, amplifying the political voice of the Willamette Valley relative to more rural regions.

This concentration of population and infrastructure has significant political consequences. Elections in Oregon are often decided by voters living along the I-5 corridor, where priorities like climate action, public transit investment, housing policy, and labor protections are more widely supported. As a result, policies shaped in Salem frequently reflect the values of these urban centers.

Not surprisingly, communities farther from I-5 — particularly in eastern and southern Oregon — often feel disconnected from the political and economic power concentrated along the highway. In this way, I-5 doesn’t just link cities; it also highlights the geographic imbalance that shapes Oregon’s modern political landscape.

Greater Idaho 

A recent article in The New York Times, “Oregon’s Rural-Urban Divide Sparks Talk of Secession,” describes how Oregon’s culture and politics have long been defined by east-west, rural-urban divides, “with the Cascade Mountains standing like a curtain separating two distinct halves of the state.” “The western side is rainier and denser in population, home to the state’s major universities and largest employers,” it continues. “The eastern side has high deserts and vast skies and a more scattered population that recognizes a decades-long decline in conservative clout.” (The New York Times, March 18, 2023)

The “Greater Idaho” campaign and its proposal to move Oregon’s eastern counties into vastly more conservative, Idaho, effectively redrawing state borders to better reflect political and cultural differences, was officially formed in January 2020. The first countywide voting efforts occurred in 2020, with 13 Oregon counties (including a number from central Oregon) approving the measure by 2024, directing county officials to explore the potential border shift. Supporters say their values — particularly around gun rights, water rights, taxation, abortion, and regulation — align more closely with Idaho’s government and policies. 

“What they’re telling us through these votes is that they want their leaders to move the border,” the President of the Greater Idaho movement recently told reporters. “In our system, the people are the ones in charge, and it’s time for the leaders representing them to follow through.”

Marine Corps veteran James Nash, who helps operate a cattle ranch in Harney County (where cows outnumber humans by a ratio of 14 to 1), offers a more tempered assessment. “I don’t think there is a historical precedent to say ‘this is going to work,’” Mr. Nash, whose ranch has been in his family for six generations, told The New York Times reporter. “I’d just rather we figure out how to restore Oregon to a better place.”

Veteran Nash is right. “Greater Idaho” faces enormous hurdles. Changing state boundaries requires approval from the Oregon State Legislature, the Idaho Legislature, and the United States Congress, leading some to call it quixotic or even idiotic. 

The movement oversimplifies complex economic and social ties between regions, critics argue. Eastern Oregon depends on state funding, infrastructure, and services that would be difficult to disentangle. Supporters, on the other hand, frame it as a matter of self-determination, arguing that communities should have a say in which state government best represents them. 

For the record, some of the bills most favored by rural lawmakers in last year’s Oregon legislative session included two bills meant to boost the state’s compensation program for livestock and working dogs killed by wolves; one that would strengthen local protections for people who rely on domestic wells for drinking water; and another that would create a mental health helpline for farmers, ranchers, and agricultural workers.

Polarization 

In 1765, John Adams offered a surprisingly discouraging epitaph to democracy (one with which I do not agree): “Remember, democracy never lasts long. It soon wastes, exhausts, and murders itself. There never was a democracy yet that did not commit suicide.” Though Adams did not mention polarization as a contributing factor, then, he likely would today.

In Southern Oregon’s House of Mystery, I am guessing, magnets with opposing antipodes still attract. Polarities continued to get along.

Polarization in Oregon’s state legislature, meanwhile, has become as heated as it has grown explosive in the U.S. Congress. Opposing antipodes do not attract.

In February 2026, Oregon Senate Republicans staged a walkout, denying a quorum to protest a contentious transportation bill (SB 1599). It echoed the six-week walkout by Democrats in 2023, related to gun rights and transgender care, that halted legislative action for six weeks. In June 2019, the Capitol was closed due to a militia threat linked to a Republican walkout protesting a climate change bill. Potential re-election bans targeted members with ten or more unexcused absences.

Will “meeting in the middle” — and the requisite mutual respect, collaboration, and a willingness to work together to solve a problem — become as rare in Oregon as it is in our nation’s capitol?

Will the esteemed historian Heather Cox Richardson, author of the daily “Letters from an American,” one day assign “meeting in the middle” to the history bin?

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