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Demand at food banks is way up again. But inflation makes it harder to meet the need

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NORFOLK, Virginia (NPR) — On a sultry evening at a neighborhood food pantry in this waterfront city, some in the line outside have come from work. Justine Lee, a teller at a credit union, had never gone to a food bank until prices went crazy this year. Now, she says with a laugh, inflation means “a lot of fussing between mothers and daughters.”

School bus driver Monique Wilson, in the blue shirt, stands in line at a Norfolk food pantry
School bus driver Monique Wilson, in the blue shirt, started coming to a Norfolk food pantry a few months ago because of inflation. [Eze Amos for NPR]
She wants to use the moment to teach her 11-year-old the value of money. But on a recent shopping trip, her daughter wanted only Doritos, not the cheaper store-brand chips. Lee also drives to work and says she didn’t used to think twice about filling the gas tank, but “it was empty yesterday.” She decided to keep driving to a place down the road she thought would be 5 or 10 cents cheaper. “And then I caught myself, ‘Wow, am I really doing this?’ ”

Lee is part of a new surge of people showing up at food banks all over the U.S. this year, a “drumbeat of increasing demand, month over month,” says Katie Fitzgerald, president of Feeding America. Food is one of the items worst hit by the highest inflation in four decades. And the cost of food and other essentials, such as gas and rent, fall hardest on lower-income households with little wiggle room.

At the Norfolk pantry, school bus driver Monique Wilson started coming a few months ago “just to supplement my food budget.” She and her husband have cut back on eating out, and to save on gas she uses the car as little as possible, “trying to make one trip do for all and get as many stops in as I can.”

Robert Walton is a regular here. He and his wife are retired but raising two grandkids. Inside the building, he grabs a shopping cart and picks out bags with applesauce, juice and sunflower seeds.

“Little snacks like this, that’s what the kids like when they can get it,” he says.

And he doesn’t mean only his own. Walton says he visits several pantries and brings food for other children in his neighborhood. He says a lot of people who lost jobs in the pandemic are still not working, and he can tell that their kids are missing meals. “It’s been bad.”

Walton is grateful for the food here. But he and others say they have noticed some favorite items missing, and meat has been especially hard to come by. That’s because even as demand surges, food banks are finding it tougher to meet the need.

Food banks are struggling to meet higher demand because of inflation and other problems

At the Foodbank of Southeastern Virginia and the Eastern Shore, President and CEO Christopher Tan shows off a cavernous storage room with empty spots on its shelves. “This would normally be much fuller,” he says.

In part, that’s because food donations are way down. He says grocery stores got more efficient with online orders during the pandemic, so they don’t have as much extra to give. Plus, supply chain delays are disrupting the normal turnover cycle. Items that used to be delivered in a few weeks may not show up for months.

“Breakfast cereal, pasta, pasta sauce. These are things that are the staples of almost every food bank, right?” Tan says. “It’s very difficult to find.”

The delays are so bad that he recently ordered turkeys for Thanksgiving, to be sure they arrive in time.

Then there’s the cost. With fewer donations, Tan must buy more food on the open market and at prices driven higher by inflation. A budget item that was a bit less than a million dollars before the pandemic will be nearly $5 million this year. What’s more, his fuel budget has doubled, and Tan says he’s competing with Amazon and rising wages, generally, for drivers. He’s currently short five delivery truck drivers out of eight.

But he can’t pass those costs on to customers as private businesses are doing. “We don’t get to say, like, ‘We’re going to double the cost of our food,’ ” he says. “Because doubling the cost of our food is still zero.”

Fitzgerald, of Feeding America, says providers around the country are dipping into emergency reserves, switching to cheaper products, limiting how often people can visit or how much food they can get, and “stretching their inventory to be able to meet more people’s needs.”

All this comes as emergency pandemic assistance for rent, child care and food has ended or will soon. Fitzgerald’s group has asked Congress for another infusion of emergency spending to help its pantries and other programs buy food. On Wednesday, Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack announced $2 billion in new funding to strengthen food supply chains.

“Our experience is that this rise in food and fuel costs are creating just as precarious a situation for people who are trying to feed their families as was the case during the pandemic,” Fitzgerald says.

America’s charitable food system was designed for emergencies but has become a necessity

An Urban Institute survey found that 1 in 6 adults relied on charitable food, a share that was still above pre-pandemic levels. It found Black and Hispanic adults were nearly three times as likely as white adults to use food pantries, with no significant decline since the first year of the pandemic. And that data was from December, before inflation caused food prices to spike.

Additionally, though the overall economy may be booming, the unemployment rate for Black people is nearly double the national average.

Feeding America’s Fitzgerald says low-income households feel rising prices the most because they spend a far greater share of their income on necessities. Food alone makes up nearly a third of their budget, on average.

But even beyond this crisis, Fitzgerald says persistent hunger has become a symptom of the country’s wider inequality. For decades, wages have lagged — especially for those without a college degree — while costs for housing, health care and education have skyrocketed. The nation’s charitable food system was not designed to compensate for such disparities.

“Thirty, 40 years ago, it was really an emergency food system for people who really had no other option,” she says. “Today, we’re seeing a lot of folks that are budgeting in charitable food to their monthly budget. And when that is happening in this country, something is fundamentally wrong, because a lot of these folks are working.”

Everett Jones is retired after a career as a traveling stagehand. He and his wife live in a subsidized senior living apartment in Virginia Beach and get food stamps. And still, he says for years they have found food donations to be an “absolute necessity.” Now, inflation is forcing painful choices.

“The gas prices are so high that I have to cancel doctor’s appointments,” he says. “They’re too far away.”

He has put off physical therapy for his bum knee, allergy shots, even a cardiology follow-up after he was hospitalized with a heart problem. Jones says he can hardly afford batteries for his hearing aids.

“It’s a lot of stress, a lot of worry, a lot of self-denial of things that we should not have to deny ourselves.”

Jones jokes he may get a horse and buggy to save on gas. But if prices stay this high for a lot longer, he doesn’t know what else he’ll be able to do without.

Copyright 2022 NPR. To see more, visit https://www.npr.org.

Transcript :

A MARTINEZ, HOST:

Inflation has demanded food pantries spiking. But those higher costs are also making it harder for food banks to meet the need. NPR’s Jennifer Ludden reports.

JENNIFER LUDDEN, BYLINE: Outside a neighborhood food pantry in Norfolk, Va., it’s early evening. And some in line have come from work. Justine Lee is a teller at a credit union. She’d never gone to a food bank until prices went crazy this year. Now, with inflation…

JUSTINE LEE: A lot of fussing between mothers and daughters (laughter).

LUDDEN: She says it’s hard saying no to an 11-year-old.

LEE: You know, we’re back and forth, you know, like, no, what about Kroger brand? I want Dorito. I was like, well, it’s not on sale right now.

LUDDEN: Lee has to drive to work. She didn’t used to think twice about filling the tank.

LEE: It was empty yesterday (laughter). I was like, let me just drive a little bit. I know there’s at least 10 cents or 5 cents cheaper down the road. And then I caught myself. Wow, am I really doing this?

LUDDEN: School bus driver Monique Wilson is also new here.

MONIQUE WILSON: It’s been a few months since I started coming, just to supplement my food budget.

LUDDEN: She and her husband have cut back on eating out. And Wilson tries to use as little gas as possible.

WILSON: Just driving my car, I try to make one trip do for all and get as many stops in as I can, you know?

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #1: All right. Thank you, ma’am. And you already been here before, so you know the routine, right? Thank you, ma’am.

UNIDENTIFIED PERSON #2: Yeah, I know…

LUDDEN: Inside, people check-in, grab a shopping cart and stroll along shelves to choose their own food. Robert Walton and his wife are retired but raising two grandkids. He picks out bags of applesauce, juice and sunflower seeds.

ROBERT WALTON: Little snacks like this, that’s what the kids like when they can get it.

LUDDEN: And he doesn’t just mean his own. Walton also brings food for children in his neighborhood. He says he can tell they’re missing meals and their parents are hard up.

WALTON: A lot of them is not working since the pandemic, you know? And it’s been bad.

LUDDEN: The overall economy may be booming, but the unemployment rate for Black people is more than double the national average. Walton and other regulars here say they’ve noticed some favorite items missing, especially meat. That’s because even as demand surges, inflation and a whole range of other problems are making it really tough to get food.

CHRISTOPHER TAN: So this is the sorting room. This is where volunteers come to sort.

LUDDEN: A few blocks away, Christopher Tan heads the Foodbank of Southeastern Virginia and the Eastern Shore. He says food donations are way down. Grocery stores got more efficient with online orders during the pandemic, so they don’t have as much extra. Plus, everyone’s struggling with supply chain problems. Things that used to take a few weeks may not show up for months.

TAN: Breakfast cereal, pasta, pasta sauce – these are things that are the staples of almost every food bank, right? It’s very difficult to find.

LUDDEN: It’s so bad, he just ordered turkeys for Thanksgiving. Then there’s the cost. Tan now has to buy more food on the open market at higher prices. What was less than $1,000,000 before the pandemic will be nearly 5 million this year. And the fuel budget for his delivery trucks has doubled. But as a food bank, he’s stuck.

TAN: With inflation, if you’re a private business, what do you do? You pass on the costs. And inflation gets even worse, right? So you just keep passing it on. But you at least try to make up for it. We don’t get to do that. We don’t get to say, like, we’re going to double the cost of our food because doubling the cost of our food is still zero.

LUDDEN: Katie Fitzgerald, the head of Feeding America, says providers are cutting where they can, dipping into emergency reserves, switching to cheaper products, limiting how often people can visit.

KATIE FITZGERALD: Or if food banks are preparing boxes for distribution, they might be putting in a little bit less in order to make sure that they’re stretching their inventory to be able to meet more people’s needs.

LUDDEN: Fitzgerald says even beyond this crisis, persistent hunger is a symptom of the country’s wider inequality. She says for decades, wages have lagged, especially for those without a college degree, while costs for housing, health care and education grew exponentially.

FITZGERALD: You know, 30, 40 years ago, it was really an emergency food system for people who really had no other option. And today, we’re seeing a lot of folks that are kind of budgeting in charitable food into their monthly budget. And when that is happening in this country, something is fundamentally wrong because a lot of these folks are working.

EVERETT JONES: Come right on in.

LUDDEN: Everett Jones is retired after a career as a traveling stagehand. He and his wife live in subsidized senior housing in Virginia Beach and get food stamps. And still, for years, he says, food donations have been an absolute necessity. Now inflation means painful choices.

JONES: It’s affected me pretty grievously. The gas prices are so high that I have to cancel doctor’s appointments that I just – they’re too far away.

LUDDEN: He’s put off physical therapy for his bum knee, allergy shots, even a cardiology follow-up after he was hospitalized with a heart problem. Jones says he can hardly afford batteries for his hearing aids.

JONES: It’s a lot of stress, a lot of worry, a lot of self-denial of things that we should not have to deny ourselves.

LUDDEN: Jones jokes he may get a horse and buggy to save on gas. But if prices stay this high for a lot longer, he truly doesn’t know what else he’ll be able to do without.

Jennifer Ludden, NPR News, Norfolk.

(SOUNDBITE OF THE POETS OF RHYTHM SONG, “SMILIN’ (WHILE YOU’RE CRYING)”) Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.