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How Sid Miller went from safe incumbent to GOP underdog


Less than a decade ago, Sid Miller appeared to be one of the safest Republicans in Texas statewide politics. A rodeo cowboy from Stephenville with a signature white hat and an unmistakable flair for attention, Miller rose alongside Donald Trump in the mid-2010s as a vocal culture-war conservative and early Trump ally. That alliance paid dividends. Trump endorsed Miller in his successful reelection bids for agriculture commissioner in 2018 and 2022, and once described him as his “man in Texas.” After Trump won a second presidential term in 2024, Miller was even rumored to be under consideration for U.S. agriculture secretary.

Today, that political momentum has stalled. As Miller seeks a fourth term overseeing Texas’s second-largest industry, he finds himself in the unfamiliar role of underdog — vulnerable not because of one single scandal or misstep, but because of years of accumulated friction with fellow Republicans, farmers, ranchers, and state leaders who now appear ready to move on.

The most immediate sign of trouble is the primary challenge itself. Miller’s opponent, Nate Sheets, is not a fringe candidate or protest vote. Sheets, a ranch owner and founder of a national honey company, has outraised Miller by a wide margin, bringing in roughly three times as much money since the start of 2025. Miller’s fundraising totals are the weakest they have been at this stage in any of his previous primary campaigns, raising questions about donor enthusiasm and political stamina.

Compounding the challenge is the conspicuous silence of Donald Trump. In past elections, Trump’s endorsement functioned as a political shield for Miller, neutralizing critics and consolidating the GOP base. This time, Trump has not weighed in publicly. Miller has suggested that support may exist behind the scenes, but there has been no confirmation from the White House. In a race defined by shifting loyalties, the absence of Trump’s voice has become a liability rather than a neutral factor.

More damaging still is the open opposition from Gov. Greg Abbott, the most powerful Republican in Texas. Abbott has not merely declined to support Miller; he has actively campaigned against him. On a conservative radio show, Abbott called Miller “an utter failure” and cited “character flaws” that he said reflect poorly on the state. Abbott later endorsed Sheets, framing the race as a choice between continued controversy and a reset for the agriculture department.

Abbott’s stance reflects a broader loss of patience among Republican officials. While Miller has weathered scandals before, many of his colleagues appear unwilling to do so again. During Miller’s first term, he was investigated by the Texas Rangers and fined by the Texas Ethics Commission over allegations that he used public funds for personal travel. He repaid the money and was never criminally charged, and the controversy did not derail his political career.

In his second term, Miller’s longtime political consultant, Todd Smith, was indicted and later pleaded guilty to commercial bribery and theft related to the attempted sale of hemp licenses regulated by Miller’s agency. Miller was not implicated and went on to win reelection easily. But after Smith’s guilty plea, Miller appointed him as chief of staff at the Department of Agriculture, making him one of the agency’s highest-paid employees. That decision alarmed lawmakers and agency staff alike and reinforced concerns about Miller’s judgment and management style.

Additional reporting has kept those concerns alive. Law enforcement interviews have documented complaints from department employees about Miller’s continued closeness to Smith. A former friend told authorities that Miller asked him to dispose of marijuana products amid a federal investigation. Miller has denied wrongdoing and characterized the scrutiny as politically motivated, calling Smith’s prosecution “Democrat lawfare.”

For many Republicans, however, the issue is no longer legal exposure but institutional trust. Lawmakers across multiple sessions have acted to curb Miller’s authority. In 2019, the Legislature removed the department’s responsibility for regulating fuel pumps, citing efficiency concerns after Miller placed prominent stickers bearing his name on pumps statewide. In 2021, lawmakers imposed a strict cap on Miller’s use of state funds for travel — a restriction applied to no other agency head and later partially relaxed.

Land Commissioner Dawn Buckingham, a former state senator, added to that criticism by recounting her experience carrying Sunset legislation in 2021 to renew the agriculture department. She said the agency’s future was endangered by Miller’s conduct and that lawmakers were deeply frustrated with his leadership. Miller said he was surprised by her comments and noted they had previously maintained a friendly relationship.

Beyond the Capitol, Miller’s support among farmers and ranchers has eroded. Agricultural groups that once backed him, including the Texas Farm Bureau and the Texas & Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association, have endorsed Sheets. Some producers cite frustration with higher license and registration fees, while others point to what they view as an insufficient response to crises such as the 2024 Panhandle wildfires.

Those fires became a flashpoint. Ranchers involved in recovery efforts said Miller did not engage directly enough on the ground. A tense exchange on social media, in which Miller told a pastor questioning disaster aid to “jump in a lake,” became emblematic of his confrontational style. Miller has defended his approach, arguing that officials should not disrupt emergency response efforts and pointing to programs like the revitalized Hay Hotline and more than $1.5 million raised through the department’s STAR Fund.

Miller continues to highlight policy accomplishments, including the AgriStress Hotline for rural mental health, the Farm Fresh Initiative connecting schools with local producers, and expanded marketing for Texas-made products. Supporters say he maintains strong relationships with federal agencies and the sitting president, which can benefit Texas agriculture.

Still, critics argue that Miller has focused too much on cultural flashpoints and social media engagement at the expense of core management and crisis coordination. Sheets has framed his candidacy as a shift toward professional administration rather than personality-driven politics, describing the role as requiring “more of a CEO than a cowboy.”

Sheets brings a different résumé: six years in the U.S. Naval Reserve, experience in business, and work in nonprofit communications. He was once a Miller donor but says he became disillusioned with what he sees as neglect of farmers’ practical needs. Miller, in turn, has attacked Sheets as inexperienced and untested, questioning both his agricultural background and political ideology.

The contrast underscores why this race feels different from Miller’s past primaries. He still has incumbency, name recognition, and pockets of loyal support. But the coalition that once insulated him — Trump, Abbott, lawmakers, and industry groups — has fractured. In its place is a more conventional Republican challenger with financial momentum and institutional backing.

Whether Miller can defy those headwinds remains to be seen. What is clear is that his path to another term is no longer paved by celebrity endorsements and party unity. Instead, it runs through a Republican electorate increasingly skeptical that the combative, cowboy-styled commissioner who once symbolized the party’s insurgent energy is still the right fit for Texas agriculture’s next chapter.