Most of us grow up believing that the “poverty line” is a meaningful measure of who is struggling. It sounds official, scientific, and precise — a clean line between people who “need help” and those who are supposedly doing fine. But as this writer recently explained, the poverty line is built on an outdated formula from the early 1960s. It reflects a world that no longer exists.

And because we still use that old formula today, our country vastly underestimates how many people are struggling to meet their basic needs.

At the Port Angeles Food Bank, we see the consequences of that misunderstanding every day.

Every year, the days after Thanksgiving unfold the same way: ads shouting from every corner, inboxes overflowing with “deals,” and a cultural pressure to buy, upgrade, consume. Black Friday has become a holiday of its own, centered not on gratitude, but on grabbing as much as we can before someone else does.

But something remarkable has happened in the last decade. A counter-movement has grown.

It’s a movement of people who are tired of being told that their value lies in what they purchase.

Tired of watching corporations turn a season of thanks into a season of consumerism.

Tired of seeing families fall deeper into debt just to keep up with expectations created by someone else.

This movement’s name is Giving Tuesday.

When people talk about “abuse” of food assistance programs, the blame almost always lands on the people using them — the single mom working two jobs, the older adult stretching Social Security to the end of the month, the family whose rent and medical bills eat up every paycheck.

But if we want to talk about who really profits from the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), we should be looking up, not down.

There is a persistent belief in this country that food assistance programs like SNAP and food banks exist mostly for people who do not work.

The assumption is that as long as someone has a job and makes responsible choices, they will not need help putting food on the table. That belief has never reflected reality. And today, it is putting hardworking people at risk.

The Port Angeles Food bank is a barrier free food bank. We don’t ask for ID, we don’t ask for proof of income, there’s no paperwork. If you need food, you get food. That’s it.

This approach is rooted in dignity, compassion, and efficiency. But we also know that some people wonder: 

How do you make sure resources aren’t abused? 

Is this sustainable? 

Why not add just a few requirements? 

Let’s talk about it.

Imagine a community where everyone uses the food bank.
Not just in crisis. Not just when things fall apart.
But as a normal part of life — a shared resource that helps everyone.

The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) has long been a powerful tool in fighting hunger in the United States. But recent cuts to the program mean millions of people nationwide will have even less support to buy groceries. And here at the Port Angeles Food Bank, we’re already feeling the ripple effects.

When you picture a food bank, what comes to mind?

For many people, it’s a dimly lit space with long lines and low spirits. It’s a last resort. A place you go when things have gotten really bad. It's where you end up when you’re out of options.

But what if that image is wrong? Or at least incomplete?

At the Port Angeles Food Bank, we’re working to flip that script entirely.

“Charity without justice is just exploitation with a smile.”

It’s a powerful statement. Maybe even a little uncomfortable. That’s on purpose.

At the Port Angeles Food Bank, we believe in doing more than handing out food. We believe in asking deeper questions about why people need food assistance in the first place and what we can all do to change that.

The central question of the book is simple but radical: Why does the richest country on Earth have so much poverty?

Desmond’s answer is equally bold: Because so many of us benefit from it.

Not in obvious ways—not by cheering it on—but through the structures we live in, the tax breaks we receive, the wages we pay, and the policies we support or ignore. Poverty, he argues, is not accidental. It's produced and maintained.

In his book In Search of Respect, anthropologist Philippe Bourgois shares the story of Primo, a young man in East Harlem who wants to do things “the right way.” He wants a steady job. He tries. Again and again. But he hits walls.