Most folks agree that when taxpayers fund a social program, the goal should be to create a real path toward better health and opportunity, not just patch a hole for a month or two. SNAP, which used to be known simply as the Food Stamp Program, started out with that bigger vision in mind. It wasn’t just handing people a few extra bucks to buy groceries; it was meant to boost health, improve job prospects, and cut down on the long-term costs that come with inadequate diets. But these days, SNAP’s original spirit often gets overshadowed by a system that lets major corporations—and their heavily processed products—take a hefty slice of the pie. Now obesity rates are climbing, many communities remain stuck in unhealthy patterns, and plenty of small food businesses miss out on the benefits that a well-directed SNAP could have delivered.
We’re at a turning point. On one side, there’s the promise of a program that gives individuals and families the breathing room they need to thrive. On the other, there’s a tangled web of corporate lobbying, junk-food marketing, and rising healthcare expenses. So how did we end up here, and what do we do next? Let’s start by remembering why the program existed in the first place.
When SNAP first took shape—back when it was still called the Food Stamp Program, passed in 1964—it aimed to solve a very basic problem: some Americans simply weren’t getting enough to eat. But the people who designed it knew that nutrition wasn’t just a feel-good talking point. A child who goes hungry struggles to learn and often faces worse health outcomes for years to come. An adult who can’t afford groceries can’t easily hold down a steady job. The early thinking was that by ensuring folks had reliable access to food, the whole country would benefit through higher productivity, stronger families, and fewer medical bills down the road. It also empowered individuals with better outcomes thus ensuring they would not remain on the program.
Over time, though, SNAP turned into a massive revenue source for some of the biggest retailers. Major chains and food manufacturers realized that if millions of households received funds for groceries, they could rake in bigger profits by offering cheap, processed options that still qualified for purchase under the program. Before long, it wasn’t just about preventing hunger; it was also about feeding a market that promoted sugary drinks and heavily processed goods. That shift blurred the line between securing basic nutrition and handing taxpayer dollars to industries selling products that often do more harm than good.
The tension here is that SNAP still does a great deal of good for millions, but it also helps funnel public money toward foods that contribute to widespread health problems. For too many families, it’s normal to fill the cart with items high in sugar and low in nutrients, because the program’s rules don’t always push them to choose better options. And while national retailers cash in, many smaller grocers, farmers, and butchers struggle to compete. That wasn’t the outcome the program’s founders envisioned when they set out to tackle hunger in a more lasting, impactful way.
It’s no accident that sugary sodas and other junk foods hold such a strong place in a program designed to improve public well-being—powerful business interests made sure of it. For years, Big Soda and ultra-processed food companies have poured resources into lobbying efforts to maintain their eligibility under SNAP. If these manufacturers lose access to millions of SNAP customers, their bottom lines suffer, so they’re determined to hold on by any means necessary.
One of their primary tactics is to shape public perception. Marketing agencies pay social media personalities to portray limits on junk food as an assault on “personal freedom” or “food sovereignty,” sidestepping the fact that these purchases are funded by taxpayers as a temporary safety net. Using SNAP benefits isn’t the same as spending your own money; it’s intended to cover essentials and, ideally, encourage healthier eating habits that help individuals become more productive—and eventually independent of the program. By framing any effort at nutritional guidance as heavy-handed government control, these campaigns manage to deflect attention from the toll that sugar-laden products take on public health.
The industry has also gotten skilled at repurposing social justice language to protect its market. Companies argue that curbing soda or snack purchases discriminates against low-income or minority populations, despite the fact these very communities suffer the highest rates of diet-related illnesses. Labeling junk-food bans as an “equity” issue conveniently shifts the conversation away from the health risks, creating a smokescreen that keeps profits flowing.
Ultimately, it’s all about money. Suggest swapping out junk for healthier staples, and lobbyists instantly label it as elitist or disconnected from “real-life” concerns. Meanwhile, the recipients of SNAP—along with the taxpayers funding it—foot the bill for the medical costs associated with obesity and chronic disease, which experts estimate exceed $170 billion a year in the U.S. alone [CDC.gov]. It’s a deliberate narrative that stifles any real discussion about how to use public funds in a way that promotes better nutrition, fosters greater productivity, and helps individuals transition off government assistance.
It wasn’t so long ago that the idea of any state crossing a 35% adult obesity rate seemed outlandish. Now, more than 20 have passed that mark, reflecting just how entrenched sugar-loaded, ultra-processed foods have become. For people who use SNAP, the issue can be even more pronounced. The program’s flexibility—meant to ensure nobody goes hungry—sometimes nudges shoppers toward cheap, engineered snacks. Many of these products were developed by food scientists who learned their trade in the Big Tobacco era, specifically designing foods to keep consumers hooked and never quite satisfied.
What follows affects everyone’s wallet and well-being. Obesity already costs the U.S. hundreds of billions in healthcare spending each year, and an adult carrying extra weight faces over a thousand dollars in additional medical expenses annually compared to someone at a healthy weight. Kids in lower-income communities, meanwhile, are at the highest risk of developing conditions like Type 2 diabetes, which experts say now appears in patients younger and younger. Poor nutrition also hurts educational performance, making it all the harder for families to break free from cycles of poverty. It’s painful to see a safety net designed to help people get back on their feet instead underwrite problems that drag them down further—especially when powerful companies profit every step of the way.
No matter where we’re from, we all have foods that evoke home or a cherished memory. Big brands know this and lean in hard. They market certain snacks or sugary drinks as if they’re symbols of belonging or comfort. They slip in cultural nods and catchy slogans that hint at tradition, nudging us to see these products as more than just an easy bite. But there’s a difference between enjoying a familiar flavor and letting a corporation rewrite our sense of identity in order to boost sales.
We can love the foods that remind us of good times without handing over our entire culture to mega-corporations. When a product is cheap, nutritionally empty, and designed to hook us, it’s fair to question how genuine that “cultural” tie really is. A handful of multinational companies shouldn’t be the ones deciding which items become woven into our routines and which ones fall by the wayside. We can still honor what we grew up with while pressing for options that don’t load us up with sugar and hidden additives.
In a truly healthy market, businesses respond to our core values rather than manipulate them. If we keep propping up products that undermine our well-being, we hand these brands the power to shape our tables and our health for years to come. We can celebrate shared traditions without letting profit-driven marketing define what belongs on our plates.
If we're going to spend public money to help people get back on their feet, that money should actually move them forward—not just fill a cart, but lead to better health, stronger families, and less need for the program in the first place. There’s nothing American about being trapped in a system that fosters dependence or makes it harder to break out of poverty. SNAP should be a launchpad, not a life sentence. But for that to happen, we need to be honest about what kind of food it’s helping people buy—and what that food actually does.
Ultra-processed food might be cheap and convenient, but it comes with a bill we all end up paying. That bill shows up in crowded clinics, in school performance, in workforce participation, and in the growing strain on our healthcare system. Taxpayer dollars should be supporting real nutrition—food that helps people feel better, think more clearly, and show up stronger in their daily lives. This isn’t about policing choices; it’s about making sure the structure of the program doesn’t set people up to fail. When we fund junk, we get junk outcomes. When we fund health, we get potential.
A common pushback is that expecting people to cook is unfair or elitist. But cooking at home isn't some boutique hobby—it’s survival. Most families on SNAP are already making hard decisions and stretching every dollar. Studies have shown that, when given access to basic ingredients and even modest cooking knowledge, people can and do prepare healthy meals that cost less per serving than many fast food options. Cooking becomes manageable when we stop pretending it needs to be elaborate or time-intensive. A bag of dried beans, rice, frozen vegetables, and some spices can stretch across several meals for a fraction of the cost of boxed dinners or microwaveables—and with better nutritional value.
It’s not just about the groceries, though. It’s about what this program was created to do. SNAP was built to lift people up, not hold them in place. Right now, we’re funding a version of the program that keeps people stuck—stuck in poor health, stuck with higher medical costs, stuck in a system where the easiest option is often the worst one. That’s not freedom. That’s decline. And if we care about getting people out of poverty and into better futures, then our policies should reflect that. We can do better, and we know what better looks like. The question is whether we’re willing to make that shift.
Reforming SNAP isn’t just about nutrition—it’s about how we spend taxpayer dollars and who we allow to benefit from them. Entitlements are already a sore subject for many Americans, especially when it feels like we’re throwing money into a system that doesn’t deliver real results. If we’re going to spend public money on support programs, then every dollar should lead to a better outcome—better health, stronger communities, and a path toward independence. Right now, though, that’s not what’s happening. That benefit is flowing straight to the top. Major food conglomerates and national retailers are raking in billions through SNAP by flooding the market with the cheapest, most heavily processed foods they can legally push. They’re not winning on quality or values—they’re winning because the rules are written to make them the default choice. That’s not capitalism. That’s rigged.
A healthy economy doesn’t rest on monopolies. It depends on local strength—small businesses, family-run markets, independent butchers, and regional farms that actually reinvest in their communities. When a SNAP dollar is spent on fresh produce from a neighborhood store or real food from a local vendor, that dollar circulates locally. It helps pay wages. It keeps small supply chains moving. It creates ownership, not just transactions. That’s what economic decentralization actually looks like—not a theory, but boots-on-the-ground business that benefits the people who live and work in that community.
Right now, the system props up corporations that have no loyalty to the communities they profit from. They pour money into marketing, into packaging, into lobbying—and they do it to protect their margins, not public health. They sell the cheapest food possible with the highest markup they can get away with. Meanwhile, the businesses that actually care about quality—the ones who know their customers by name, who show up at farmers markets, who partner with local schools and nonprofits—are left to fight for the leftovers. If they can even survive. That’s not just inefficient—it’s unjust.
Reforming SNAP to support real food from real businesses isn’t some pie-in-the-sky ideal. It’s a practical, pro-growth solution rooted in values conservatives believe in: hard work, ownership, personal responsibility, and fair competition. It’s also a message to liberals who still believe in capitalism—that you don’t have to give up your values or drift toward socialism to care about outcomes. You just have to be willing to stop giving public funds to companies that profit from keeping people sick, poor, and dependent.
This is bigger than food. It’s about whether we want to keep feeding a corporate machine that thrives on stagnation, or build a system that actually gives people a way out—where spending SNAP benefits becomes a step toward dignity, not another corporate payday. Every time someone uses their EBT card at a local market instead of a national chain, that’s a win. It’s a win for the kind of economy that rewards local effort and respects the value of a dollar. It’s a win for the kind of capitalism that works for people instead of using them and poisoning them.
We don’t need to burn it all down—we need to fix what the system rewards. SNAP, done right, could be one of the best tools we have to lift families up, promote real health, and create jobs that can’t be outsourced or replaced by automation. Jobs that are local, lasting, and part of the fabric of the communities we’re supposed to be serving. Reform isn’t about control. It’s about restoring balance. It’s about making sure public dollars reflect public values, and that the incentives we build actually lead to better outcomes.
This is a chance to do something better—for health, for independence, for the economy we say we believe in. Let’s not waste it.