I’m sitting here on November 10th, and my fridge is nearly empty. I’m hungry, but the thought of eating canned tuna for breakfast isn’t enticing, nor do I have time to cook the winter squash my neighbor left me.
I’m not alone. Around 41 million Americans depend on SNAP to get by. With the government shutdown affecting food assistance, my access to support has been a constant rollercoaster. One moment I think I’ll have food, the next I’m unsure.
This is life in Mapleton, Oregon—a small town of just 527 people. We have a church, a general store, a diner, a bar, and a food bank where folks line up for hours before it opens. One in six Oregonians relies on SNAP. Here, the poverty rate is about 22%, and for families with kids, it shoots up to 44%.
I want to clarify that I’m not writing this out of self-pity. I don’t have kids, and my low rent is thanks to generous friends. My situation—living on canned food—is not the same as actual starvation. Still, I’m lucky to live in a state where the governor has stood up for us during this crisis.
Yet, it feels like people in need are being treated like pawns in a political game. “Oh good, they’re giving us food! Oh wait, they’re not.”
This narrative oversimplifies the lives of those on SNAP. Many of us work hard. With limited resources, we find creative ways to make ends meet. Take my cousin’s daughter, Alissa. At 24, she lives in a rundown apartment, paying $1,000 a month, while her partner shifted from fishing to working at a supply store to spend more time with family.
Alissa used to be a barista, but her income didn’t cover daycare costs. Now she juggles gig jobs, which often fall short. Recently, she expressed her worries, not just for her family but for the whole community. Food banks are limited and already facing funding cuts.
People like Alissa and I were struggling with food security long before this crisis hit. In rural Oregon, we make do with what we have, foraging and hunting when necessary. It might seem romantic, but the reality is harsh—we live in conditions most can’t imagine.
There’s a larger problem at play. Many people, like me, have been unaffected by the government safety net for years. However, rising costs and stagnant wages have changed that. I found myself racking up credit card debt just to pay bills, receiving a mere $250 from SNAP last year, which wasn’t enough. Grocery prices have skyrocketed, making every penny count.
Food insecurity breeds worry. It’s a constant mental struggle to figure out how to stretch limited resources. At first, I hesitated to visit food banks for fear of stigma, but now I realize it fosters community. I feel solidarity instead of shame, connecting with others experiencing similar struggles.
And I’m angry—not just for myself, but for everyone in tough situations. Too many hardworking individuals like my friend Kevin, who can’t work due to medical issues, or Mel, who lost financial assistance due to a tiny raise, are falling through the cracks.
Every month, lines grow longer at food banks while the wealthy evade taxes, blaming the underserved for systemic issues. It’s disheartening to see political games impacting crucial support for the working poor.
Alissa shares this frustration. The manipulation by the government is hard to digest. She sees it as a sign of a failed system. Conversations about parenting, health, and politics fill her family group chat. Here’s the truth: it’s people against exploitation, not Democrats vs. Republicans.
In rural America, stress and frustration are at an all-time high. Conspiracy theories are everywhere, and some don’t seem so crazy anymore. The idea that they want to break us down to the point where we can’t fight for our rights feels all too real.
When basic needs aren’t met, speaking up becomes nearly impossible. It’s tough to defend your rights when you’re worried about your next meal or how to afford gas.
In the end, we’re not just statistics. We are navigating difficult realities while yearning for change.
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