As I sit in my “home away from home” on Whidbey Island, I’ve been following the legislative sessions in both Idaho and Washington State. The contrast between the two has been striking. I find myself impressed by how consistently conservative the few Republicans in the Washington Legislature remain, while so many Republicans in the Idaho Legislature govern far more liberally. In fact, many Idaho Republicans could slip comfortably into the progressive Washington Legislature without missing a beat.
One of the most glaring differences between the two states is the influence of special interests. In Idaho, lobbyists and large institutional players wield far more power than they appear to in Washington. Part of this may simply be scale: in a larger state, it takes more money and more organization to buy access. But the practical effect is unmistakable. In Washington, it is Republicans who are pushing back against the major special interests—Boeing, Microsoft, labor unions, including health‑care and teachers’ unions. In Idaho, it is Republicans who are aligning themselves with the very special interests they claim to oppose.
Whidbey Island offers a case study in how progressive alliances with environmental groups and unions can produce policies that backfire on the very workers they claim to protect. The lifeblood of Puget Sound’s transportation system is the ferry network connecting the mainland to the islands. For generations, these ferries were built in world‑class shipyards like Nichols Brothers Shipyard in Freeland. But when progressive lawmakers sought to modernize the fleet, they bowed to environmental activists and committed to building “electric ferries”—vessels that cost several times more than traditional diesel or modern gas‑turbine ferries.
Because Washington’s labor costs are so high—driven by union contracts and rising minimum‑wage laws—the bids to build these ferries in‑state came in 40–50% higher than bids from non‑union states with lower wage floors. The result: Washington’s own shipbuilders were boxed out of work they had performed for more than a century. Jobs that once sustained island communities are now being shipped to Mississippi and Florida.
In predictable fashion, labor‑union advocates suggested that displaced shipyard workers could simply be “guaranteed” jobs at Boeing’s Everett plant. So instead of building ferries in their own backyard, workers would now have to take a ferry to build airplanes. The arrogance of that assumption is breathtaking. What legislator believes they can guarantee anyone a job? And what does it say if elected officials imply that Boeing jobs are a quid pro quo for political loyalty? In Idaho, we see a similar pattern: legislators cozying up to teachers’ unions and large hospital‑insurance systems. Why are we spending more on education and health care when we have fewer students and significantly reduced demand for hospital care?
These patterns—across two very different states and two very different political majorities—reflect four common themes. And those themes are captured with surprising clarity in the vineyard parables of the New Testament.
The vineyard stories offer context and perspective that cut across political, social, and economic lines. In each parable, Jesus uses the vineyard as a living laboratory for authority, accountability, execution, and outcomes. The Two Sons expose the gap between words and action. The Workers in the Vineyard highlight entitlement and corrosive comparison. The Wicked Tenants reveal the dangers of corrupt stewardship. And the Barren Vineyard underscores the necessity of fruitfulness and timely intervention. Together, these parables form a framework: leaders are stewards, not owners; integrity is proven through execution; culture is shaped by fairness and clarity; and systems must ultimately produce results. These remain some of the most incisive leadership diagnostics ever articulated.
Consider the parable of the Two Sons. A father asks both sons to work in the vineyard. One refuses but later reconsiders and goes. The other agrees but never follows through. Jesus asks which son did the father’s will. The answer is obvious: the one who acted, not the one who merely agreed. How many of our politicians resemble the second son—promising to represent our interests when seeking our vote, only to turn around and accept campaign contributions from lobbyists, developers, and corporate intermediaries?
The Workers in the Vineyard offers another lesson. Laborers hired at different times receive the same wage. The point is not wage fairness but leadership authority: the employer sets the terms. Comparison breeds resentment and entitlement. This speaks directly to the Washington ferry situation, where wage structures, labor rules, and cost comparisons have distorted the very system they were meant to support.
Then there is the Parable of the Wicked Tenants. Tenants entrusted with a vineyard abuse their authority, reject accountability, and attack the owner’s messengers. It is a story about leaders who forget they are stewards, not owners. It is not hard to see echoes of this in modern governance—whether in land‑use decisions, regulatory overreach, or the quiet consolidation of power by political actors who believe the system belongs to them.
Finally, the Barren Fig Tree in the unfruitful vineyard. A vineyard receives care but produces no fruit. It is given one final chance before removal. The lesson is simple: investment must lead to results. Grace has a timeline. How many times must voters watch the rug pulled out from under them? How many times must special interests be prioritized over constituents? In states where one party holds a large majority—Republican or Democrat—the temptation to serve the interests of donors over the interests of citizens grows stronger, not weaker.
The question becomes: When does the grace of “We the People” run out?
Whether we are fighting for ferry access in Washington, or for health‑care access and educational choice in Idaho, or for something as basic as abolishing the grocery tax, the principle remains the same.
Say what you do, and do what you say.
Corruption begins the moment constituents take a back seat to special interests.
