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Opinion
The Shutdown Proved That the USA Needs SNAP
The short, natural experiment we all witnessed reinforces that SNAP is the nation’s first line of defense against hunger and food insecurity.
Nov 27, 2025
Since the Food Stamp Act of 1964 and until the recent government shutdown, the Food Stamp program (renamed the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP), had operated without interruption. Most SNAP participants have their grocery needs satisfied thanks to the SNAP subsidies, with only 35% of SNAP households also using community resources such as food pantries or food banks. That is, prior to the shutdown, 65% of the 22.4 million SNAP participating households (approximately 42 million people) did not rely on food pantries.
The shutdown created the conditions for a natural experiment where we could see what the USA would experience without SNAP outside of the conditions of a laboratory. We learned that the 12% of Americans who rely on SNAP find it vital for their household budgets. During the shutdown, lines at food pantries lengthened, and, to “stretch” resources, many food pantries provided households with less food. While many communities stepped up to provide food pantries with more resources, this short-term experiment left open the question of when donor fatigue would set in.
Consider that in 2023, 9.3 million households (24.4 million persons) received free groceries from a food pantry or other community resource. Without SNAP, the 65% of SNAP participating households that had not previously relied on food pantries would likely start relying on food pantries, adding approximately 14.6 million households to food pantry lines.
Adding another 14.6 million households to the preexisting 9.3 million households that use food pantries would entail scaling up the network to an unprecedented level and restructuring it. This would come at a high cost and cannot be accomplished in the short-term. Further, the long-term resources available for such scaling up are uncertain—while Americans are generous in the short-term, establishing an equitable and resourced scaled-up network would require long-term private donations to food assistance at a scale never before shown. Donor fatigue would likely set in.
Reductions in SNAP will fall on the shoulders of communities.
But even if food pantries could provide food to millions more households, the amount of food that pantries typically provide is far less than average SNAP benefits. SNAP provides to participants, on average, approximately $188 per person per month in electronic benefits available to purchase groceries. A family of four receives approximately $750 per month, or $9,000 annually. In contrast, food pantries or food banks typically provide anywhere between the equivalent of two to five days’ worth of food per month. The US Department of Agriculture “thrifty” food plan costs out one week of food for a family of 4 at $231. That is, even if a family were lucky enough to get a full week of food per month from a food pantry, that value would be far less than the value of SNAP benefits (e.g., $2,770 vs. $9,000 per year).
During the government shutdown and pause in SNAP benefits, I toured a large food pantry 30 miles outside of Pittsburgh. Staff reported a surge in new enrollees (in one week getting approximately seven times the number of new families to serve than usual), calls from people outside of the pantry’s service area needing help, and needing volunteers to direct traffic during open hours. The increase in monetary and food donations could not keep pace with the surge in demand, forcing a reduction in each household’s food allotment. Participants lined up well before the pantry opened due to anxiety about food running out.
While SNAP is intended to make it possible for households to meet their monthly food needs, the food pantry and food bank network is not designed to do such. The network was originally designed to cover the period between when one applied for Food Stamps and when expedited benefits would start to flow, which used to be approximately four days but has increased to seven days.
The Trump administration is exploring ways to reduce the number of SNAP participants such as having shorter periods for recertification or making it mandatory for all SNAP households to reapply. The administration hopes that such barriers will discourage people from receiving SNAP.
Reductions in SNAP will fall on the shoulders of communities. The short, natural experiment we all witnessed reinforces that SNAP is the nation’s first line of defense against hunger and food insecurity and food pantries can only be a secondary and supplemental source of food. Food pantries and food banks cannot substitute for a robust, reliable, government-funded food safety net.
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The Fight for Academic Freedom Is a Fight for Justice
The right-wing effort to infringe on students' right to learn is an effort to hobble higher education as a force for creating a more just society.
Nov 27, 2025
We who believe in the value of academic freedom have been disheartened these past two years as quisling administrators at some of America’s once-great universities have caved to political pressure to quash protests, cancel courses, and limit professorial speech that is critical of inequalities in US society and US foreign policy.
These attacks on academic freedom are usually framed as threats to the freedom of faculty to conduct research, publish, speak, and teach, based on disciplinary expertise, without outside political interference. This portrayal of the threat, as true as it is, misses a key point: Also under attack are students’ rights to learn. The right-wing effort to infringe these rights is an effort to hobble higher education as a force for creating a more just society.
Long ago, as an undergrad in an introduction to physical anthropology course, I played a game we called stump the prof. It wasn’t a real game; it was just a few of us trying to liven things up by asking questions we thought would be hard or impossible to answer. The prof was young and upbeat, as I recall, and never seemed put out by our antics, though he no doubt saw what we were doing. I think he liked the energy. One time I asked if apes had orgasms. That got people’s attention.
In that class, taught 50 years ago at a public university, we as students felt free to ask whatever occurred to us (within the bounds of physical anthropology, of course). Our exercise of that freedom is part of what made the class memorable. We weren’t just amusing ourselves or bugging the prof. It might sound self-congratulatory, given that our motives weren’t entirely noble, but we were wringing a lot more knowledge out of the course than we might otherwise have gotten.
The worry is that students will develop the ability to question received truths, see through the ideologies that justify social and economic inequalities, and resist manipulative political rhetoric that bypasses rationality.
What was true back then is true today: How much students learn in college depends on the opportunities they’re given. When a course is scratched from the catalog, students miss out on the knowledge that would have been available to them in that course. Students lose out, too, when certain concepts are proscribed, or when faculty self-censor for fear that discussing those concepts and related topics might get them in trouble. That’s why interference with the ability of faculty to teach what they deem important infringes on the right to learn.
Suppose, for example, that students wanted to ask how conventional gender expectations constrain our humanity. That’s a serious question deserving a serious answer. It’s a question that might be asked in a sociology or gender studies course. But if no such course exists, or if an instructor feels compelled to say, “Sorry, a group of politicians has made it too risky to talk about such stuff,” students are kept from learning. That’s a betrayal of what higher education has promised them: freedom to ask questions, freedom to pursue their curiosity, freedom to grow through the acquisition of vetted knowledge.
Right-wing ideological warriors and politicians would like to leave students in the dark about many other troublesome things: institutional racism, white supremacy, the exploitation of labor, the global havoc wreaked by US imperialism, the domination of government by corporate capitalists and the very wealthy. In relation to these matters, there is much that needs to be faced up to and talked about if we hope to understand how our society works and how to make it work better. And, yes, some courage is required.
Suppose students asked how it is possible for racial disparities—in income, wealth, education, health status—to persist even when most people overtly disavow racism. That’s another question that deserves an answer. It’s also a question that can be answered based on decades of social science research. Students shouldn’t be denied the opportunity to ask these questions and get answers because the topic makes some people uncomfortable. We should not let discomfort be weaponized to protect ignorance.
Students might also want to know how it’s possible for some people to enjoy privilege and not know it. Or how racism has historically supercharged capitalism. Again, these are all legitimate matters for university-level inquiry. But they’re also threatening to politicians who, on the one hand, serve economic elites and, on the other hand, exploit popular prejudices to mobilize voters. That’s the real reason for right-wing attacks on the disciplines and courses where students can learn about our society’s inequalities, past and present.
Critics of intellectual spaces in which students can learn to think critically about US society often claim they want to protect students from liberal indoctrination. But it’s not really indoctrination they worry about. The worry is that students will develop the ability to question received truths, see through the ideologies that justify social and economic inequalities, and resist manipulative political rhetoric that bypasses rationality. Education that imparts these abilities is indeed “liberal,” in the classical sense of being liberating. Which is the opposite of indoctrination.
Universities are dangerous places—or they can be, when faculty are free to pursue the truth even if the results disturb political and economic elites; when faculty are free to teach what they have found through their research and scholarship; and when students are free to ask tough, even off-the-wall, questions. But of course the danger is not to those who want to inquire critically about social inequalities, or employ concepts that might upend common sense, or to teach and learn about these matters. The danger is not to those who seek in good faith to fulfill the promises of higher education. It is to those whose power and privilege depend on keeping these promises from being met.
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Giving Thanks on an Endangered Earth
So many of us are now searching for a bridge to the world we need. I’m thankful that we’re searching together and for the possibilities we may find.
Nov 27, 2025
The days grow dark here in the North as the year winds down. Friends slowly return from COP30 in Brazil, the frontline of the fight for our climate future, with far too little won. There’s a weight to the air. It’s an age of global polycrisis, an era of authoritarian upsurge, a time of anger, grief, and overwhelm, nesting dolls of troubled times, from the planetary to the personal. And in the US, it’s Thanksgiving, a time when we are meant to gather to show gratitude for the things we’ve been given.
It’s a complicated proposition, giving thanks; it has always looked very different depending on who and where you are in this country. Because what have we been given and by whom? What have we taken and from whom? What is being taken today and who are the takers?
And it grows more complicated each year, giving thanks, as so many of us whose lives are materially abundant increasingly see that abundance less as a blessing and more as our birthright and a legacy to maintain. When in reality, modern materialist lifestyles were always the brittle pretense of an era of extraction that is hollowing out the Earth and our space to be safe upon it—and is starting to crack.
And this year, with cracks appearing everywhere—in our climate, our politics, our communities, our bodies and minds, our very sense of reality—it is profoundly complicated, giving thanks. This era of capitalist extraction and detached materialism has belched up such historic, geopolitical hairballs as Donald Trump presiding over the world’s richest nation for a second time and promptly pulling us out of the Paris Climate Agreement; such inexcusable own goals as global carbon emissions hitting a new record high in 2025; and such multigenerational tragedies as the vital, life-supporting 1.5°C climate target being all but certified dead. (We can overshoot and return to 1.5°C but we’re making this task harder.)
No one knows where this is going—why can’t it be somewhere beautiful?
This follows a decade of urgent talk about the all-important “2030 deadline” for deeply reducing emissions to achieve this target—“we have just 10 years to avoid catastrophic climate change”, wait, “just 5 years”, wait… This was a message that children around the world picked up and shouted, demanding to be heard. But this year, the adults have gone quiet. The deadline will be missed.
So, it’s a complicated thanks. If I consider what really matters to me, each of those things is under some kind of assault. And my thanks is suffused with grief and anger.
But gratitude is powerful. It’s both something we offer up and, when we mean it, it’s a gift we give ourselves that can help us to hold grief, move anger, and bring us into right relation with what is.
So here are things I’m thankful for.
I’m thankful for the food that will be on the table. I’m thankful for the hands that harvested it. I’m thankful for everyday people in cities across the nation, defending our immigrant friends and neighbors from this administration’s inhumanity.
I’m thankful for the defenders of science, justice, and truth, the people who work tirelessly to ensure these pillars of a free and fair society outlast this authoritarian spasm.
I’m thankful for the creators—the ones making the music, writing the words, conjuring the new and unexpected art forms, and drawing forth visions of the possible that can see us through this dark time.
I’m thankful for the elders. Not the arrested-development adolescents wandering the halls of power in old people’s bodies. True elders, people with the wisdom the world so badly needs. May we listen; may we become one ourselves.
I’m thankful for the dreams of young people that spring eternal, with each new generation, and renew the world’s purpose: to let them thrive.
I’m thankful for the beauty of nature. I’ll grieve coral reefs the rest of my days, but I saw them; I witnessed that wonder of creation and I’m grateful. And though I long for a time when witnessing nature’s beauty was simply about awe, not grief, I wasn’t born then. Learning to hold grief and wonder together not only spares us from emotionally shutting down but can open a deep well of strength and equanimity.
I’m thankful for the resilient living Earth. I’m thankful for all that she has absorbed of our foolishness: the consumption, the fossil-fuel pollution, the bottomless corporate greed—she has spared us the true cost of it all. But now the atmosphere is trapping ever more heat; the oceans break out in fevers; the land endures the drought, floods, and fires of its more violent climate. Ecosystems collapse, people suffer, animals are made extinct. This is the Earth seeking new equilibrium; this is the future; we will be less shielded from the consequences of our choices. And yet… the Earth adapts and, if given a chance, life will always seek to thrive.
I’m thankful for the people who, their lifeways tied to the Earth, continue to stand against the madness and for right relations with nature and each other. Around the world, Indigenous people who have suffered immeasurably in these centuries of colonial extraction, but endured, are raising voices and showing ways forward, including at COP30 in Brazil. They’ve been offering wisdom we should have heeded, just as the Mayflower colonists should have heeded, but it’s not too late.
I’m thankful for those cracks, the ones that seem to be appearing everywhere. Bayo Akomolafe says, “The crack is the monster’s gift,” a weakness in the wall, an opening on which to pry. Vanessa Machado de Oliveira invites us to use these openings to “hospice modernity,” to gently deconstruct the sources of destruction, and to grow in their place the world the world needs. More than I can ever recall, so many people seem to sense that world, waiting to be grown; are planting seeds and tending; are questioning what we as humans really need to live rich lives and creating community that can meet those needs. So many of us are now searching for a bridge to the world we need. I’m thankful that we’re searching together and for the possibilities we may find. No one knows where this is going—why can’t it be somewhere beautiful?
And I’m thankful for our capable, willing hands, yours and mine. We’re going to need to pry at the cracks and plant for tomorrow, together. We’re going to need to raise defiant fists and hold out compassionate palms. And we’re all going to need to hold hands as we meet what comes. I wish I had simpler things to tell my children about this moment, I wish giving thanks was simpler. But they are teens and young adults now and their time here will not be simple, so I tell them the truth: Some things are lost. A lot can be saved. I won’t see the world we’re trying to reach. I hope you will. All we can do today is build a bridge to that world. All we can do is hold hands tightly and be the bridge.
Happy Thanksgiving.
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The Dark Side of Gratitude: When Thankfulness Becomes a Tool of Control
Gratitude is celebrated as a virtue, but coerced thankfulness can reinforce inequality, stifle emotions, and keep us complacent.
Nov 27, 2025
We live in a world that constantly tells us to “count our blessings.” Gratitude is praised as a moral virtue, a mental tonic, a gateway to happiness. Entire industries are built on it: journals, apps, workshops, and social media trends. But what if gratitude isn’t a virtue at all? What if, instead of elevating us, it functions as a quiet mechanism that traps, silences, and pacifies us?
At first glance, gratitude seems harmless—even virtuous. A simple “thank you” can smooth social interactions, remind us of the positive, and cultivate humility. Yet much of our gratitude is coerced, performative, or socially demanded. We are expected to be thankful, whether or not we genuinely feel it. Miss the cue, fail to smile, or silently resent the “blessing” offered, and we are framed as ungrateful, even morally deficient. Gratitude often functions less as a choice and more as a social leash, compelling people to perform virtue on cue.
Take the workplace, for example. Employees are often reminded to “be grateful for having a job” when faced with low pay, long hours, or toxic conditions. The intention may be to inspire appreciation, but the ultimate effect is control—gratitude becomes a tool for compliance. By teaching people to “be grateful” for injustice or minimal provision, society trains obedience under the guise of virtue. It pacifies dissatisfaction by framing fundamental rights and fair treatment as privileges rather than entitlements. In such cases, thankfulness isn’t just a moral exercise—it’s a mechanism to normalize inequity.
Gratitude can act as emotional camouflage. We are taught to appreciate our lives, our health, our families, sometimes even our misfortunes. Perspective is valuable, but the relentless pressure to be thankful can suppress genuine emotions. Anger, grief, frustration—signals that something is wrong—are nudged aside. We are told to “look on the bright side,” even when the side that demands closer scrutiny is dark. Gratitude, in this sense, becomes a velvet handcuff: soft, polite, yet restraining real feelings and masking problems we need to confront. The human psyche thrives on complexity, but “gratitude culture” encourages simplification: Everything must be filtered through a lens of thankfulness.
The braver, wiser act is to stop counting blessings on command, to resist the soft tyranny of enforced gratitude, and to reclaim our right to anger, dissatisfaction, and honesty.
Gratitude also carries a heavy psychological burden. Feeling obligated to reciprocate kindness or opportunity breeds stress and anxiety. Recognizing genuine generosity is one thing; living under a constant sense of debt—to friends, family, employers, or society—is another. Those with fewer resources bear this pressure more heavily: Expectations of gratitude are imposed when there is little power to refuse or negotiate social norms. For some, gratitude becomes an unspoken debt that never expires, a pressure cooker of stress and resentment. In these cases, it is not liberating, but a subtle form of coercion.
We are also encouraged to turn gratitude inward as a self-help tool: “Practice daily gratitude, and you will be happier.” While brief reflections on what we value can improve mood, this framing risks individualizing systemic problems. Feeling unhappy? Focus on what you do have. Struggling with debt, illness, or social injustice? Count your blessings. Gratitude thus becomes a psychological Band-Aid, a quiet insistence that the problem lies not in circumstances or structures but in our own perception. It is both a pacifier and a distraction from meaningful action.
It’s worth noting that gratitude, in its purest, voluntary form, is not inherently bad. Genuine, spontaneous thankfulness can deepen relationships, foster empathy, and anchor us in meaningful moments. The problem arises when gratitude is demanded, packaged, or weaponized—when it is less a personal reflection and more a social or institutional expectation. That is when it stops being a virtue and becomes a subtle tool of emotional and psychological manipulation.
Consider the social media dimension. We post “thankful” photos, recount the blessings of our lives, and share curated moments of appreciation. These public expressions rarely arise from raw emotion—they are curated for approval, likes, and social validation. Such displays may appear harmless, even charming, but they reinforce the notion that gratitude is an obligation rather than an organic experience.
Even in intimate settings, gratitude can carry hidden pressures. Being thankful to a loved one can generate unspoken debts or expectations: a favor must be repaid, a kindness acknowledged, a gesture reciprocated. This is not always harmful, but it becomes so when gratitude is demanded or used as leverage. In this sense, gratitude is not purely virtuous; it is a social contract with emotional consequences.
Step back, and a pattern emerges: Gratitude is often less about authentic appreciation and more about maintaining social harmony, suppressing discontent, and normalizing inequality. It is a quietly coercive force. And yet, we are rarely taught to question it. We are trained to assume that gratitude is inherently virtuous, morally neutral, or personally beneficial. What if, instead, we allowed ourselves to interrogate it—to ask whether our thankfulness is truly ours or imposed?
The real question is not whether gratitude can be good. It can. The question is whether our culture has overvalued it, weaponized it, or confused performative thankfulness with genuine reflection. By unquestioningly embracing gratitude as a moral imperative, we risk ignoring discomfort, overlooking injustice, and silencing authentic emotion. Sometimes, the bravest act is not to be thankful—to allow ourselves anger, frustration, or dissatisfaction. Sometimes the healthiest choice is to withhold thanks, at least until we genuinely feel it.
In rethinking gratitude, we are not rejecting kindness or appreciation. We are reclaiming the right to feel emotions honestly, without guilt or coercion. We are resisting the subtle pressures that tell us to be grateful for situations that do not deserve it. Authentic gratitude, like all virtues, cannot be commanded; it must emerge voluntarily, thoughtfully, and without obligation. Only then can it be meaningful.
The braver, wiser act is to stop counting blessings on command, to resist the soft tyranny of enforced gratitude, and to reclaim our right to anger, dissatisfaction, and honesty. Gratitude should serve us—not the agendas of others.
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