ELB writes

  • Hot Chicken

    Yes, House Republicans voted to allow SNAP recipients to use their benefits to buy hot chicken. A friend posted on Facebook about this, and my response got long enough that I decided it should be its own post.

    Standard SNAP rules allow all cold foods to be purchased. SNAP can’t be used for tobacco or alcohol, or for personal hygiene products (no soap, tampons, deodorant) or items labeled as “supplements” rather than food. SNAP can be used to buy seeds and edible plants. It can’t be used for pet food. And it can’t be used to buy hot food — not soup, not a hot sandwich, and not a rotisserie chicken. This restriction has been in place since the 1970s.

    Dems have been pushing to lift this rule, with the rotisserie chicken as an example of how dumb the rule is. Republicans came back and passed this amendment just to address rotisserie chicken. Dem leadership voted against it because they want the full change, not just the carve-out. (And to clarify, it’s only passed in the House, not been enacted.)

    Some stores definitely help people work around the restriction– they’ll sell people a cold sandwich or frozen pizza, and then let them heat it in the store oven. But they could conceivably get kicked out of the SNAP program for doing so.

    There are some states with approved “restaurant meals programs” that allow people who are homeless/seniors/disabled to use SNAP benefits at approved restaurants.

    Until a few years ago, I would have said, yes, the hot foods restriction is silly, but I wouldn’t have placed it high on the list of things that need to be fixed in U.S. public benefits. But when I was at CLASP and we worked with people whose expertise on public benefits comes from lived experience on a report about SNAP, they told me I was wrong. They taught me that it’s not about the hot chicken, it’s about whether the program treats recipients with respect, and trusts them to decide what makes sense for them and their families.

    So of course, this administration has now approved about a dozen states to have various additional restrictions on what SNAP can be used to buy — generally restrictions on soda or candy bars, but the specific rules are different in each state, and they’re pretty arbitrary (e.g. is seltzer soda? Is gatorade?) The New York Times had a pretty good piece on the inconsistency and absurdity of these rules.

    My favorite comment on these proposals comes from someone who used to work for a state agency, and then was at USDA. At a conference, someone asked her shouldn’t SNAP promote health, and wasn’t it better for health if people didn’t eat so much sugar. Her response was that it’s absolutely a matter of mental health to be able to buy your kid a birthday cake.

    So, yes, SNAP recipients should be able to buy hot chicken. But allowing hot chicken and adding a bunch of new confusing and complicated restrictions isn’t the answer.

  • Why lobby at all?*

    Following the enactment of the Big Ugly Bill, I read a couple of pieces that wrestle with what’s the point of lobbying (or advocating, if the L-word makes you nervous) given that hundreds of organizations and thousands or even millions of people fought back against this monstrosity and it didn’t change the results.

    I’ve been doing this work for nearly 30 years, through some years where we had some big wins and some years where we had some awful losses, and I thought some folks might be interested in my perspective.

    Short version (tl/dr): It was always a long shot to stop this bill, but that doesn’t mean lobbying is pointless.  Stay angry, keep fighting, don’t despair.

    Long version:

    The first thing to realize is that changing votes on these big high profile deeply partisan bills is the single hardest thing to do in politics.  By the time a bill gets to the floor, 99 percent of members are locked into their positions, and nothing is going to move them, not data, not stories of voters, not polls, not money. Moreover,  a competent speaker or majority leader knows if they have the votes, and won’t bring a bill to the floor if they don’t.  John McCain’s thumbs down on the Affordable Care Act repeal was a historic exception, but I literally can’t think of another example like it.

    Does that mean that there’s no point in lobbying on these big bills?  No, of course not.  One reason to keep lobbying is that it does shape the final bill.  As terrible as this bill is – and it’s awful – there were Republicans pushing to make it even worse. That didn’t happen (much) largely because some of the more moderate vulnerable Republicans pushed back.

    Lobbying is also important for accountability purposes. Almost always, the most reliable way to change a vote is to change the person casting it. When someone who voted for this bill is running for re-election, you want to be able to say that they were confronted with the facts of what the bill would do, and the faces of the people who would be harmed, and they voted for it anyway.  And of course sometimes, under pressure, people say really stupid and awful things like “they’ll get over it,” and “well, we’re all going to die.”  

    But there’s also a lot more opportunities to lobby where you can have a bigger impact.  One is at the state or local level, where legislation and policies often get much less attention, and a small number of committed advocates can make a bigger splash.  And the state level is where many decisions are made – including what happens next to food assistance under SNAP, and health care under Medicaid.

    You can also often have much more of an effect by lobbying earlier in the process. While it’s rare to change a vote on the floor, I’ve frequently seen lobbyists (including citizen lobbyists) persuade a lawmaker that an issue that they had never heard of was worth paying attention to. Early engagement is critical to drawing attention to an issue, to building champions, to shaping “message bills” that are probably not going to be enacted, but that plant the seeds for future legislation.  Rosa DeLauro has been pushing for an expanded child tax credit since at least 2016.

    Stay angry, keep fighting, don’t despair.

    *With apologies to Marge Piercy

  • What to do now

    I’ve started writing a post multiple times this week, only for it to be overtaken by events before I could finish. So, for now, I’m not going to try to summarize all the things that have happened since Trump took office, but just jump in with a few thoughts about what we can be doing right now. (That said, if you have specific questions about what the hell just happened, send them my way and I’ll do my best to explain.

    1. Speak truth. In the face of this enormity, it’s important to name what’s happening. Sam Bagenstos, who was the General Counsel at HHS until two weeks ago, had a great post this morning about why it’s important to write about the illegality of what Trump and Musk are doing. The point is not to say “this is illegal, so the courts will fix it and we don’t have to worry about it.” Bagenstos is not naive about the power of the courts and how much damage will have already occurred even if they rule against Trump. But if we let them claim that this is politics as normal, or that they’re violating technicalities that only lawyers care about, we’re giving up more than half the battle.
    2. Document the harm. If you need data that has suddenly disappeared from the Census website, if your doctor doesn’t have access to the pages that provide evidence-based recommendations, if you got a stop-work order, if you can’t access the portal you need to get paid, don’t just sit and stew. Write down what happened, and the impact it’s having, and share with your members of Congress, with the press (NY Times form), with the groups suing the administration (National Council of Nonprofits form), and with your uncle who voted for Trump.
    3. If you’re not directly impacted, help the folks who are. In particular, there’s been an immediate cut off of support to both international aid and domestic refugee resettlement groups. I’m hearing in some cases, groups aren’t being paid for work they’ve already done and staff are either already being laid off or will be imminently. If you’re in the DC area, Lutheran Social Services of the National Capital Area has been the major resettlement agency. And check in on your friends and neighbors who are federal employees.
    4. Call your members of Congress, especially if you’re represented by a Republican.
      • Stay calm, don’t yell at the underpaid staffer who is answering the phone, but be clear about the specific harms you’re seeing, and the danger of letting unelected and unconfirmed wildcards have access to the government’s financial systems and personnel records. (Seriously, if I had my money in a bank with this poor controls, I’d pull it out.) I’m not betting on the spine of Congressional Republicans, but if enough people call them and show up at their town halls, they might realize that it’s in their interest to speak up.
      • If they’re Democrats, tell them that they need to speak out more vocally, and that they should not be supporting any of the nominations at this point, and that nothing should be moving under unanimous consent. If they don’t know what to do, they should say “what would Mitch McConnell have done?” and do that. They probably can’t stop this shit from happening — unless they convince at least some Republicans to join them — but they should be using every opportunity to call it out.
    5. What about protests? I think Mariame Kaba is right that the most impactful protests right now are against institutions that have pre-complied — that are shutting down anything that could vaguely be called DEI, that are taking away care and services from trans kids. Trump doesn’t care if people protest against him, but your local library or hospital might. (see picture below of protests outside of the UVA hospital).

    That said, if Indivisible or MoveOn decides that we’ve reached the point where we need mass action, I’m going to trust them.

    Finally, take care of yourself. Pick something you can do, then look away from the screen for a little while. Get outside. Call a friend. Bake something good. Cancel a subscription you don’t need.

  • Lo aleicha hamlacha ligmor

    “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you at liberty to neglect it.” Pirkei Avot 2:16

    So here we go. The last couple of months have been the slow uphill climb towards the start of the worst roller coaster ride ever — we’re strapped in, and it’s too late to get off, and it’s about to get awful.

    I know a lot of people are struggling with the question of how much to engage with the awfulness. It’s a real issue — they’re deliberately planning on “shock and awe” — on doing so many terrible things at once that people are overwhelmed and give up. And even before this moment, it’s become increasingly clear that human beings were not evolved to have all the bad things happening in the world present in their pockets 24 hours a day. So you need to manage the emotional load, decide how you’re going to learn about what’s happening in a way that works for you, and when you’re going to turn it off.

    But that’s not the same as checking out entirely. Everyone has a role to play in fighting back, in defending the people who are being targeted, in building joyful community, in defending democracy and the rule of law. If we don’t do that, those who are trying to destroy will win without a fight. But it’s not up to any of us to do it single handedly. So, you need to pick the things that you’re going to focus on, and find the other people working on that, and do your best, and trust that other people are doing their best on other things. And listen when they say “hey, we need your backup right now” but also listen to your body and soul when they say “hey, we need some joy and rest so we can come back and work some more.” Easier said than done, but the alternative is complicity.

    Democracy2025 is a good place to start to figure out who else is working on the things you care about — if you can’t find what you want, email me and I’ll provide a personal concierge service to help you find the right group for you.

    Some other useful writings on thinking about your role in this new world we’re living in:

    Anand Giridharadas on finding your “posture” in this world.

    The Social Change Ecosystem Map

    Julie Philips on Ursula LeGuin, the way of water, and social activism

    And LeGuin’s own essay, writen in the wake of the 2016 election.

    It’s going to be a bumpy ride — and far worse than that for some. Let me know how I can support you.

  • Books of 2024 – part 2

    Yesterday, I shared my reactions to the books that the NY Times thought were notable this year. Today, I’m going to lift up some of the books I read this year that I liked the most (or had the biggest impact on me — not necessarily the same thing).

    Prophet Song, by Paul Lynch. This won the Booker prize last year. It’s a lyrical book about a mother dealing with trying to take care of her family (four kids, an aging father) in the wake of her husband’s arrest by the secret police in an Ireland moving towards fascism and civil war. I loved this, but I hesitate to recommend it to people without a trigger warning, because it broke me a little. Near the end, there’s a passage that has haunted me since I read it:

    “…the world is always ending over and over again in one place but not another and that the end of the world is always a local event, it comes to your country and visits your town and knocks on the door of your house and becomes to others but some distant warning, a brief report on the news, an echo of events that has passed into folklore”

    The Power Broker, Robert Caro. This is his biography of Robert Moses. It’s the 50th anniversary of its publishing and it’s a 1000 page plus book about NY politics and power and money and how they affect land use and roads and parks. If you think you’d hate this, you’re probably right, and if you think it sounds like fun, you’ve probably read it already. But if it sounds like fun, and you haven’t read it, I recommend it. I listened to the audiobook at 1.2x speed and it still took me most of the year to get through.

    For a shorter investment of time, you could also just listen to the 99 percent invisible podcast read-along series, and get the gist. They’ve got great guests, from AOC and Pete Buttigieg to Brennan Lee Mulligan (who created a D&D campaign with undead Robert Moses as the main villain) and Shiloh Frederick (whose TikTok videos got NYC to remove the sculptures of monkeys in shackles from a Harlem playground). But if you skip the book, you’d miss out on Caro’s attention to the sound and rhythm of his sentences. (I also recommend Caro’s series on LBJ.)

    We Were Illegal: Uncovering a Texas Family’s Mythmaking and Migration, by Jessica Godeau. This book examines American and Texas history and historical myths through the lens of the author’s own family, going back to before the American revolution. It covers tough topics, including slavery, genocide, police brutality, redlining and sexual abuse. But it somehow isn’t an overwhelmingly depressing book, as Godeau highlights the people who were brave enough to tell the truth, even when it was unpopular or dangerous.

    Other favorites this year, in various genres (or combinations of genres) —

    Science fiction: The Possibilities, by Yael Goldstein-Love.

    Graphic novel: The Magic Fish, by Trung Le Nguyen

    Romance: You should be so lucky, by Cat Sebastian

    Fantasy: The scandalous confessions of Lydia Bennet, Witch, by Melinda Taub.

    Ghost story/historical novel: The Reformatory, by Tananarive Due

    Mystery (and also a ghost story): Shutter, by Ramona Emerson

    SF/Mystery/Romance: The Mars House, by Natasha Pulley

    Fantasy/Noir/Romance: Even though I knew the end, by C.L Polk.

  • Books of 2024: part 1

    I used to do a thing where I’d look at the NY Times picks for books of the year, and see how many I’ve read, and what I thought of them. So here goes.

    Starting with the “10 best” books. I’ve read 2 of the 10, both fiction.

    All Fours, Miranda July. I read the reviews, didn’t think I’d like it, then kept on seeing raves for it, so put it on the hold list at the library. I was right the first time — I didn’t like it. I’m a perimenopausal woman, so I’m supposed to be the target audience, but I didn’t like the main character, found the sexual passages deeply unerotic, and generally didn’t find any of the revelations particularly revelatory. If you liked it, tell me why.

    James, Percival Everett. This is the retelling of Huck Finn from the pov of “Jim.” I liked this, without loving it. I found it both entertaining and interesting to read, but ultimately found the characters underdeveloped. (I also read Julia, by Sandra Newman this year, which is her take on 1984, from Julia’s point of view, which I liked a little more.)

    Of the additional 90 books in the “notable books of 2024 list,” I’ve read 4, and started another 3.

    The four that I read were:

    • The God of the Woods, Liz Moore
    • The Hunter, Tana French,
    • The Safekeep, Yael van der Woouden, and
    • Circle of Hope, Eliza Griswold.

    I very much enjoyed the first two, which are both mysteries of a sort, in that someone dies or disappears, but the focus is far more on the characters and their relationships than on whodunnit. I thought The Safekeep was interesting and well written, but the big surprise was obvious to me from nearly the beginning. I’m super curious whether that was the case for other readers, and how much it varies depending on whether you’re Jewish by heritage.

    I just finished Circle of Hope this morning, and really liked it. It’s about a lefty evangelical church in Philadelphia and how it was pulled apart over both generational shifts and racialized disagreement in the wake of the pandemic and the attention to race post George Floyd. There was an excerpt from it in the paper early in the year or last year, and I found the racialized disagreement utterly predictable. But with the additional space to really get to know the different people as individuals, the story gets more complicated. Griswold is a very good writer, and the church gave her amazing access during what was clearly a very difficult time. But I’m not sure what the takeaway is other than that being in community is hard, especially across real differences in life experience, even when everyone is trying. It’s worth the work, but it may not succeed. Another of the books on the list is Undivided, by Hahrie Han, which is about a conservative evangelical church struggling to address racial injustice — I’ve got that out from the library too, and will be interested in comparing them.

    I’m in the middle of Lev Grossman‘s The Bright Sword. I picked this up because of its strong reviews in spite of being maybe the only person who really disliked The Magicians. I’m enjoying it, but I got it as an audiobook, and it’s very long. And because it’s sort of meandering — it’s got one story going in the main timeline, but keeps looping back to tell individual character’s backstories in more detail — when I take a break from it, there’s not compulsion to return to find out what happens next.

    I started but ran out of library renewals on two books from the list before I could finish them. I might try again onThe Practice, the Horizon and the Chain, by Sofia Samatar. It’s very abstract and allegorical, but interesting. I just couldn’t get into Creation Lake, by Rachel Kushner.

    Part 2 will be some of the other books I read this year that are worth commenting on.

  • A blog, again

    From 2004 to 2012 I kept a blog, Half Changed World, where I posted about “work, parenthood, gender, politics, and the rest of life.” It was never a “top tier” blog, and it didn’t make me famous or bring in lots of money. But it brought me in contact with some amazing people, some of whom are still part of my life. It’s hard to describe to folks who weren’t part of that world how amazing it was to be able to sit at the computer and be part of a real community, to wrestle with ideas and post a blog, knowing that people would read it, and post comments, or respond on their blogs. Many of us had small children, and little free time, but blogging let us be a part of an ongoing conversation, like the late night conversations I missed from college, fit into the nooks and crannies of our lives.

    Did Facebook kill blogging, or the rise of influencers, or something else? I don’t know. But things move in cycles, and newsletters have become hot. I had a TinyLetter newsletter for a while, but I didn’t keep it up, and I somehow missed the news that they were shutting down, and by the time I went back to try to revive it, my archives were gone, lost forever, as was my subscriber list. A lesson in the value of owning your own content, of POSSE, of writing a newsletter not a “substack“.

    At the end of September, I left my job at an organization where I had worked for the past 18 years. Much of what I’ve written in the past decade is available on their website. I’m not sure what’s coming next for me professionally, and I’m no longer in the throes of daily caring for children. But I do know that I still want to be part of conversations about gender and caregiving and what counts as work and what doesn’t, about politics and policy, and money and health and books, and why we are still having these same damn conversations and how does change happen. So here I am.