The snowcapped peaks surrounding Montana’s Flathead Reservation signal the onset of another harsh winter. For Mary Lefthand, a resident and grandmother caring for three growing grandchildren, the season’s arrival brings more than just cold air—it brings the anxiety of not knowing whether her family will have enough to eat. Like many Indigenous Americans, Lefthand’s household depends on the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) to stretch her grocery budget. But in November 2025, when a federal government shutdown threatened to halt SNAP payments for 41 million Americans, Lefthand and countless others faced a new level of uncertainty and hardship.
According to NPR, Lefthand’s experience is far from unique. Indigenous Americans across the United States are disproportionately affected by food insecurity. Research shows that 46% of Indigenous Americans struggle with food insecurity every year, a stark contrast to the roughly 10% rate seen in the broader U.S. population. For many, programs like SNAP or tribal commodity food distributions are not just supplements—they are the primary source of food.
During the shutdown, Lefthand made a difficult choice. With no guarantee that her SNAP benefits would arrive, she turned to the tribal commodity food program run by the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes. The program, funded federally but not directly impacted by the shutdown, became a crucial safety net. “Because I have three growing grandkids that eat a lot,” Lefthand explained, she needed to ensure there was enough food in the house, even if it meant switching programs temporarily.
Unlike SNAP, which lets recipients choose their groceries at local stores, the commodity program offers a set selection of foods distributed from a warehouse in the valley below the Flathead Reservation’s mountains. Lefthand prefers SNAP for the flexibility, but when the stakes are this high, any reliable source of food will do. “Toward the end of the month, I feed them plain rice and whatever I can find,” she admitted, highlighting the persistent struggle to keep her family fed.
The shutdown’s ripple effects were felt far and wide. As NPR reports, when the Trump administration announced it would not send out SNAP payments for November, tribal governments scrambled to fill the void. “More than 60% of Native people rely solely on that source of food as their primary source of food,” said Valarie Blue Bird Jernigan, a professor of medicine and rural health at Oklahoma State University. The sudden uncertainty forced many to seek alternatives, and for some, the options were drastic.
On the Flathead Reservation, Nicholas White manages the Salish and Kootenai Tribes Commodity Program. “I got a pretty good stack of individuals,” he said, referencing the thick pile of new applications from people who, like Lefthand, could not afford to wait and see if SNAP payments would resume. For tribal members, the choice is binary—they can enroll in either SNAP or the commodity program, but not both. Switching between the two isn’t simple, either; to re-enroll in SNAP after using the commodity program, beneficiaries must drop out for at least a month, presenting a bureaucratic hurdle that can leave families in limbo.
Other tribes faced even more dire circumstances. The Blackfeet Nation in northwest Montana declared a state of emergency and slaughtered 18 buffalo from its herd to feed the community. This stopgap measure, while necessary, comes at a cost. Many tribes are in the early stages of rebuilding their bison herds, and every animal lost now can slow that progress significantly. Across the West, other tribes also culled more bison than they would have under normal circumstances, showing just how deep the food crisis ran during the shutdown.
Nonprofit organizations and tribal food aid programs stepped up as well. Tescha Hawley, who runs the Day Eagle Hope Project on the Ft. Belknap Reservation, described diverting grant funds originally meant to support local farmers and ranchers to purchase cattle and distribute the meat to temporary food banks. “Many tribal communities are food deserts,” NPR noted, and such creative solutions were vital to keeping families afloat. During the shutdown, these programs increased their food distributions, often dipping into self-funded reserves to do so.
But these emergency measures are not without consequences. Yadira Rivera, director of Native Agriculture and Food Systems Investment at the First Nations Development Institute, warned that tribes and nonprofits will not be reimbursed for the extra money and resources expended during the crisis. “That’s going to leave them with a future problem,” Rivera said. With the holiday season—traditionally the busiest time of year for food aid—approaching, many tribal programs are stretched thin and facing an uncertain future.
The financial strain doesn’t end with food aid. During the weeks of SNAP uncertainty, many families had to make impossible choices. As Rivera pointed out, some skipped rent or other bills just to put food on the table. Georgetown Law Professor David Super, an expert in welfare law, explained the cascading effects: “There are a lot of people who get evicted when they lose food aid, because they spend their money on food, you got to eat.” For others, the choice might be between buying medications or groceries. These are not hypothetical scenarios; they are the lived reality for thousands of Indigenous families.
While SNAP payments have since resumed, the fallout from the shutdown continues to reverberate. Some families are still catching up on bills or recovering from the financial sacrifices made during the crisis. Tribal and nonprofit programs, having spent beyond their budgets, may be forced to scale back services or seek new funding sources just to keep up with demand. And for individuals like Lefthand, the bureaucratic dance between SNAP and the commodity program remains a source of stress and uncertainty. “I am going to stay on commodities for a while. When they do get the food stamps back on, I’ll probably get back on that,” she said, acknowledging the administrative hoops she’ll need to jump through just to re-qualify for SNAP.
According to NPR, the shutdown exposed just how fragile the food security safety net is for Indigenous Americans. Despite the restoration of SNAP, many tribal members remain worried about the long-term consequences and whether the system will be able to withstand future shocks. As winter deepens and the holiday season approaches, the question remains: will there be enough to go around?
For now, communities are relying on a patchwork of federal aid, tribal programs, and nonprofit efforts to keep families fed. The resilience and resourcefulness shown by tribes and their partners is remarkable, but the underlying vulnerabilities remain. Until systemic changes address these disparities, the struggle against food insecurity in Indigenous America is far from over.
