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The Impotence of Being Ernst Sen. Joni Ernst’s election was historic. But after six years in Washington, she may leave office best known for a nutty campaign ad. BY PAUL BRENNAN
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Katherine Snyder / Little Village. Tiny pig by Eugene Kim / Flickr
ix years ago, a little-known state senator introduced herself to Iowans statewide with the words, “I’m Joni Ernst. I grew up castrating hogs on an Iowa farm.” The “Make ’em Squeal” ad helped plant an image of Ernst in the public’s mind as a plain-speaking farm girl who wanted to bring Iowa common sense to Washington D.C. Various versions of the phrase “make ’em squeal” have served as Ernst’s mantra ever since. Todd Harris, a D.C.-based political strategist, told a reporter in 2014 the ad worked because Ernst was “so authentic in it.” Authentic was an interesting word for Harris to use, since the ad was his idea, not Ernst’s.
“C
astrating hogs is one of those jobs nobody wants to do, but it has to be done, and it’s disgusting,” Ernst writes in her memoir, Daughter of the Heartland. Ernst was only 10 years old when Dick Culver took his two daughters, Joni and Julie, into the barn on the family farm to introduce them to a new chore. After castrating a pig to show them the right technique, he handed the scalpel to Joni. Castrating pigs became another part of farm
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life for young Joni Culver. “It was a family affair involving Dad, Mom, Julie, and me.” Following standard practice, the testicles weren’t wasted. “Smaller or damaged” ones were tossed to the pigs to eat. The family
cooked the rest. “We had a bucket and we’d save the decent-sized testicles for frying,” Ernst recalled. She says she never liked “mountain oysters,” calling them “dense and chewy.” According to Daughter of the Heartland,
