Food Became A Political Bargaining Chip this Fall

I immediately noticed the extraordinary scene as I arrived at Overpeck County Park in Leonia, New Jersey, on the crisp morning of November 6, 2025. A line of vehicles stretched from the park entrance – bumper-to-bumper – crawling towards the amphitheater parking lot where Bergen County officials and volunteers set up an emergency food distribution. Volunteers in neon vests hurried from car to car, loading trunks with emergency food boxes — one filled with pantry staples, another brimming with fresh produce. Families waited patiently behind steering wheels, some with kids peering out backseat windows. A few drivers rolled down their windows to thank the workers, their relief palpable even from a distance. In each face I saw a mix of gratitude and strain reflective of the hardship that brought them here.

This was no ordinary community food drive; it was a lifeline organized by Bergen County and the Community FoodBank of New Jersey (CFBNJ) for those caught in a national crisis. Normally, SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) benefits help low-income households afford groceries. However, as the federal government shutdown lengthened into its fifth week, nearly 42,000 Bergen County residents faced a delay in their SNAP benefits. Many area federal employees were furloughed without pay for more than a month, and local families who rely on nutrition assistance had nowhere else to turn. 

“Thousands of hardworking families and public servants are being left in the lurch through no fault of their own,” County Executive Jim Tedesco had said earlier, warning that “SNAP recipients are caught in political crossfire.” The emergency distribution at Overpeck Park was Bergen County’s answer — a grassroots triage for neighbors in need, born of equal parts compassion and urgency.

By 10:00 a.m., the cars began moving through in a steady procession. County staff and CFBNJ workers checked IDs and eligibility (recipients had to show proof of Bergen County residency and a SNAP card or federal employee ID) as each car pulled up. The process was swift and dignified — a drive-thru system to minimize any stigma. I volunteered to direct traffic and hand out pamphlets that listed local food pantries and the Bergen County Food Security Task Force’s website for additional help. Noticing vehicles of a wide variety of makes and year-models confirmed hunger does not differentiate. Today, in this line, everyone was equal in their need. The county prepared about 2,000 emergency food boxes for this event, roughly half containing shelf-stable items (canned goods, pasta, rice) and half packed with fresh fruits and vegetables. That would be enough to assist close to 1,000 households — a stunning number though it only represents a fraction of those hurting.

I spoke with Ron, a furloughed federal parks employee who had been waiting in his car since 8:30. “I never thought I’d be in a food line to feed my kids,” he admitted, his voice tight with disbelief. “I’ve served my country for 20 years. Missing one paycheck was hard; missing two … I’m running on fumes. It’s either the mortgage or groceries — and I can’t let my kids go hungry.” In the backseat, two young children sat quietly, as if sensing their dad’s worry. Ron told me that without this assistance, he wouldn’t have food for the week. The stress of the situation was etched on his face. Yet, even amid his frustration, he expressed gratitude for the community support: “It hurts to be here, but I’m thankful people care. This shouldn’t be happening in America, but at least we’re not alone.”

A few cars back, Shelly – a mother of two from Englewood – also spoke with me. She was nine months pregnant, her baby coming any time now. As volunteers placed two boxes into her trunk, I walked over to greet her. “It’s scary,” she told me, shaking her head in exhaustion. “I’m about to have a baby, I have two little boys at home, and suddenly our SNAP benefits are just … not there. It’s scary.” She explained that her family’s October benefits had run out and November’s were frozen by the shutdown. Her husband is a federal contractor who was also furloughed, and without income to cover the shortfall, their cupboards were almost empty. “I’m going to try to make this food last us the next two weeks,” she said, gesturing to the allotment of groceries. “That’s what we’ve got to do.” Shelly’s pragmatism in the face of fear was as heartbreaking as it was inspiring. I noticed she had taped a small handwritten sign on her dashboard that read “Thank you” with a smiley face — a simple but heartfelt message to the volunteers loading her car.

In the next vehicle, an elderly man in a faded Navy veteran cap rolled down his window to chat. He introduced himself as Walter – a retired postal worker. “I’m on a fixed income, and it’s just not enough anymore,” Walter said. “With prices so high, I was already skipping meals to pay for my medicine, and now the SNAP delay … I mean, how are you supposed to live? How are you supposed to eat?” He shrugged, managing a weak smile. “Nobody wants to be in this line, but thank God it’s here.” I noticed a tear in Walter’s eye as he received his boxes — one of the volunteers, herself a middle-aged woman, put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Hang in there, sir. We’ve got you.” That gesture of simple kindness seemed to steady him. It sure steadied me.

Listening to these stories, I felt both anger and resolve welling up inside my heart. None of these folks would be here if not for the political stalemate in Washington that is creating pawns out of people’s basic needs. This wasn’t a local crisis; it was a national one. SNAP feeds about one in eight Americans in any given month — some 42 million Americans in total — many of them children, seniors, or people with disabilities. Yet here we were with the availability of necessary food aid for those tens of millions in question because of partisan brinkmanship. The federal government shutdown of 2025 had ground on so long that it broke past records, and lawmakers chose to treat SNAP funding as a bargaining chip in budget negotiations. The human cost of that decision was on full display at Overpeck Park.

At the heart of the standoff was a cynical calculation by some in Congress: they gambled that holding up food assistance would pressure the other side into budget concessions. Instead, it pressured families like Shelly’s and veterans like Walter into desperation. Initially, the White House (under President Trump’s administration) flatly refused to release any contingency funds for SNAP until the shutdown ended, essentially freezing November benefits for millions. Only after multiple lawsuits by anti-hunger groups and several states did a federal judge order the administration to restore the benefits in early November — a ruling that would have forced the USDA to immediately spend $4 billion to keep SNAP running. In a controversial move, the U.S. Supreme Court stepped in and temporarily blocked that court order, allowing the administration to withhold those funds pending appeal. In other words, the highest court in the land sanctioned a pause on nutrition assistance for the poorest Americans, at least for a few critical days. That administrative stay kept food aid in limbo, and it sowed chaos: some states scrambled to issue their own emergency allotments; others held off, confused by conflicting directives. The result was exactly what we were seeing on the ground — uncertainty and empty refrigerators. 

“Not one penny has been released — not one dime on people’s EBT cards,” Bergen County Commissioner Tracy Zur remarked at the event, noting that about 26,000 households (43,000 people) in her county rely on SNAP and had no idea when their benefits would arrive. Zur, along with Congressman Josh Gottheimer, helped distribute food that day and blasted the stalemate in D.C.: “They keep saying in the courts they’ll fix it, but the dollars aren’t out the door,” she said, exasperated. House Democrats even held a public hearing in Washington as the shutdown wore on, accusing Republican leadership of “blocking food and health care funds” in the name of fiscal brinkmanship. It was, in no uncertain terms, a manufactured crisis, and ordinary people were paying the price.

The national ripple effects have been severe. With SNAP dollars frozen, food pantries nationwide have been besieged by unprecedented demand. Reports have emerged of families turning to already-strained food banks and even forgoing medications to afford groceries. In my conversations at Overpeck Park, I heard similar accounts: parents choosing between buying insulin or buying dinner, seniors rationing canned goods until their next Social Security check, single moms working extra shifts but still unable to fill the gap left by stalled SNAP benefits. The harm of treating SNAP as a political football isn’t abstract — it’s on the faces of hungry children and anxious caregivers. A federal judge in one of the SNAP lawsuits perhaps said it best: had the administration gotten its way, it would have caused “widespread harm” by “leaving tens of millions of Americans without food as winter approaches.” In Bergen County, winter was indeed closing in, and the prospect of an extended shutdown had everyone on edge. However, standing in that parking lot, I also saw the flip side of this dire story: I saw community. I saw what happens when people refuse to let their neighbors go hungry.

The Overpeck Park event ended around noon, when the last trunk was filled and the supplies ran out. Nearly 1,000 families received emergency boxes. Those who arrived too late were given referral sheets with information on other food resources and told that more distributions were being planned in the coming days. I watched as a county worker gently explained to one young father that they had run out of food, but then personally took down his contact info to ensure he’d get help elsewhere. No one wanted to turn anyone away. In fact, Bergen County had already begun coordinating additional emergency drives in dozens of towns, and volunteers from all over the county had mobilized. 

It was an inspiring show of solidarity: local police officers directing traffic, high school students loading boxes, church groups and civic clubs pitching in, and local businesses donating pallets of groceries. The Community FoodBank of NJ sent truckloads of provisions and its staff worked side by side with county employees. “The gap is huge. This is really not a sustainable effort,” CFBNJ’s CEO Elizabeth McCarthy told me as she surveyed the long line of cars, “but we will do whatever it takes to keep people fed.” She noted that their network of pantries had never seen demand like this before. Indeed, well before the shutdown, hunger was on the rise — more than 84,000 Bergen County residents were food-insecure, and local pantries had reported a 20% surge in demand in the past year. The freeze in federal nutrition aid was pouring gasoline on a fire, but the community response was to form a bucket brigade and start dousing the flames.

As I helped stack empty cardboard boxes at the event's end, I felt a mix of pride and frustration. Pride in my community for stepping up; frustration that such heroics were even necessary in the richest country on Earth. This crisis was entirely preventable. SNAP shouldn’t stop just because politicians can’t agree on a budget. Food is not a bargaining chip; it’s a basic human need. When we allow it to be used as leverage, we undermine both our morality and our national security — hungry citizens and hungry children make for a weaker nation. We must demand better from those who represent us. No American should have to wait in a mile-long car line to feed their family because of political gamesmanship.

What can we do? First, we take care of each other. The people of Bergen County have shown that in a pinch, we show up for our neighbors. Let’s keep that spirit alive outside of emergencies as well. Support your local food pantries and food banks — they will continue to need help even after this shutdown ends. These organizations are literal lifesavers, and they rely on the generosity and energy of the community. As County Commissioner Zur urged during the event, “If you have the ability to donate time, food, or funds, please consider doing so. Our neighbors need us.” Even a small contribution — a few cans of soup, a couple hours volunteering, a modest monetary donation — can make a real difference for a family in need.

Second, we must demand policy reform so this never happens again. This fiasco exposed a glaring flaw in how we fund vital programs. It’s not enough to be reactive; we have to be proactive. That could mean pushing for legislation that protects SNAP and other essential benefits from being halted during government shutdowns. It could mean urging our representatives to pass budgets on time, without holding must-have programs hostage. It certainly means holding accountable those who thought it was acceptable to gamble with Americans’ ability to eat. If treating hunger relief as a political pawn leads to widespread suffering, then the policy needs to change — period. We should raise our voices — write op-eds, call into radio shows, speak at town halls — to make it clear that food security is non-negotiable.

Finally, and crucially, we must vote accordingly. Civic engagement is our strongest tool. When election time comes, remember what happened here. Remember the parents in that parking lot, anxious and afraid because the help they depend on was yanked away over a political grudge. Remember the volunteers sweating in the cold, doing what our leaders failed to do. Ask which candidates are committed to strengthening the safety net, and which are content to see it unravel as collateral damage? 

Regardless of party, we need public servants who value people over partisanship. If the past weeks have shown anything, it’s that elections truly have consequences — sometimes measured in empty plates and empty pantries. Let’s choose leaders who won’t put families like Ron’s, Shelly’s, or Walter’s in this position ever again. Our votes can ensure that no American family’s next meal is held hostage to politics.

As I left Overpeck Park that day, the sun was high and volunteers were packing up. An empty cardboard box tumbled across the lot in a gust of November wind. I thought about Shelly planning to stretch those groceries for two weeks, and Ron hoping this would be the last food line he’d ever have to join. The federal shutdown would eventually end — they always do — and SNAP benefits would resume. The scars of this episode – the stress and uncertainty inflicted on millions – will linger. In Bergen County, we’ll carry on with our food drives and our mutual aid because that’s what communities do. Still, my hope is that we also carry forward a lesson to our national conscience: no one in America should go hungry because of political brinkmanship. If we can come together in a parking lot to feed our neighbors, we can surely come together at the ballot box and in the halls of Congress to demand a government that never again lets hunger be used as a weapon. It’s not just a SNAP issue or a Bergen County issue — it’s a test of our values. We must answer, as we did that day in Overpeck Park, with compassion and unwavering resolve.

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