When the System Shuts Down, Hunger Doesn’t Pause

By Kenneth Braswell, CEO, Fathers Incorporated 

When the government shuts down, the lights don’t just go off in Washington — they also dim in kitchens across America. Refrigerators hum with less inside. Dinner tables get quieter. Parents stare a little longer at what’s left in the pantry, trying to stretch what cannot be stretched.

If the shutdown continues, SNAP benefits – the very foundation of food security for millions of families across the country – may not be available as of November 1. For many, that means facing an impossible question: How do I feed my children without help?

I know what that space feels like. I grew up in a single-parent household in Brooklyn. There were seasons when my mother needed help, back when it was called welfare, food stamps, and vouchers. I watched her balance humility and pride every time she stood in a line she never imagined she’d be in. And when she finally didn’t have to depend on it anymore, I saw the quiet relief that came from reclaiming dignity.

Not everyone gets that moment. Not everyone can.

That’s why this potential SNAP shutdown isn’t just an administrative failure. It’s a moral one. It exposes how fragile the line is between stability and struggle and how quickly families — mostly mothers, children, and yes, fathers, too — can fall through cracks that policy debates never seem to fill.

But as we prepare for what could come next for benefits and the families who rely on them, we must resist the old temptation to point fingers, especially toward noncustodial parents (primarily fathers) who are too often painted as the sole reason for mothers’ financial hardship. The truth, however, is far more complex… and deeply embedded in the design of the system itself.

SNAP benefits operate within the same family assistance structure as the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF) program. What most people don’t know is that when a custodial parent receives TANF benefits, they are required to assign their right to child support to the state. That means the child support a father pays doesn’t always reach his child directly. Instead, its first use is to reimburse state and federal governments for the cost of any TANF services provided to the family.

So, there are fathers out there right now faithfully paying child support every month — doing what’s right, showing up financially — yet their children may still go without because the system redirects those payments before they reach the home. This isn’t neglect. It’s bureaucracy. It’s a design flaw born from the belief that the state must first be made whole before the family can be.

Our ultimate goal should be to strengthen families so they no longer need government aid, not punish them when they do. Yet too often, these policies trap parents in a cycle where support doesn’t reach where it’s needed most. Mothers are stigmatized for seeking help. Fathers are vilified for systems beyond their control. And children — the ones we say we’re protecting — bear the weight of it all.

At Fathers Incorporated, we understand that these systems — SNAP, TANF, Child Support — were built with good intentions, but good intentions can still create bad outcomes. That’s why we work relentlessly to help parents, particularly fathers, navigate the complexities of these structures — to know their rights, understand their responsibilities, and recognize that they are often working within systems not designed for their success.

As November approaches, we don’t yet know the full impact of this potential shutdown of benefits. But we do know this: Hunger will not wait for politics to resolve. Children will wake up hungry. Parents will search for answers. And organizations like ours will have to be ready — innovative, charitable, and grounded in empathy — to stand in the gap.

So, as policymakers debate budgets and deadlines, let’s remember that for too many families, the clock doesn’t reset. The need doesn’t pause. And the measure of our compassion will not be found in what we say about hunger, but in what we do when others have nothing left to eat.