Government Cheese

 Government Cheese

Thanksgiving is always one of those times that reminds me to pause and give thanks for the blessings that have been mine over the last year.  With the chaos that is thrust upon us by the current administration, I have to admit that I have been distracted and distressed.   I have found it difficult to make that pause, to identify those blessings.

When I get like this life has a way of tapping me on the shoulder and reminding me of the pilgrimage of life that has been given me.

It is not always crystal clear moments for those epiphanies. Sometimes they are subtle and even tangential.

The conversation was with a friend.  She was bemoaning the fact that her elderly mother had received a letter notifying her that her “commodities” …the canned meat, the dry beans, the government cheese…were no longer going to be delivered, but that she would have to pick them up in person.   

A new rule, a new mandate following the government shutdown.   

There was no apology for the inconvenience, it was all there in black and white.

The letter also warned that missing two cycles of commodity distribution would result in termination of the food benefit.

Previously these food supplies had been delivered by a community volunteer organization.  But under the new and improved rules this would no longer be allowed.   The 86 year old widow had to go to the distribution site in winter weather.   To make sure she was not abusing the commodity system.

Now you and I know that the reason for this new rule is to add additional hassle and to thin the rolls of commodity consumers.  The more barriers to access, the fewer mouths to feed.   It is the American way of taking care of our most vulnerable citizens.   It is the public shaming that is being manifested throughout our history.

It came wrapped in a silver foil package, a dense, cool block of processed cheese that bore the stark imprint U.S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE. For a kid with a burr haircut in rural Oklahoma, that stamp was a mysterious seal, not a stigma. I just knew that cheese, salty and smooth, melted into a glorious pool on my toast.  And there was the ½ gallon of peanut butter that had a wonderful taste and texture as well.

My dad was unemployed or was not making ends meet with his commission only sales job.  

Lots of beans cooked in the pressure cooker.  I love navy beans even to this day.  I had no clue that these were the meals of those families that were struggling.  My folks never let on that somehow this was food that was provided by the government as commodities.

I did find it strange that we always got those silver foil wrapped foods from a distribution truck that was in the parking lot outside of the Department of Human Services offices in town.  Strange that we did not go to the grocery store to find them.  

I wonder if the rules were that complicated in those days.  Did they just take your word for it in 1962 that you needed commodities or were there reams of forms to fill out.   

Back then, that government cheese was just food. It wasn't a political chess piece or a badge of shame; it was Saturday lunch. The system, however clumsily, felt like a safety net. It was sustenance that also, as my dad would say, supported the American farmer. Now, the system feels less like a net and more like a maze designed for you to lose your way. The cheese is the same, but the transaction is weaponized. 

Sustenance that I never even knew was a commodity.

That block of government cheese was once a safe harbor, wrapped in foil and delivered without question to a hungry kid. Now, the delivery itself is the hurdle, the paperwork a barrier, and the benefit a fragile privilege. The cheese hasn't changed. We have. Where have we gone so wrong that we weaponize the very sustenance meant to bridge our most fragile gaps?

J.Michael Pontious M.D.

December 2, 2025