As winter settles over the snowcapped peaks surrounding the Flathead Reservation in northwest Montana, Mary Lefthand drives into St. Ignatius to pick up free groceries from the commodity program run by the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes. That tribal commodity program is federally funded and was not interrupted by the recent federal shutdown, unlike SNAP (the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), which briefly left some 41 million recipients unsure whether they would receive November benefits.
Lefthand normally uses SNAP because it lets her choose groceries in a store, but the uncertainty during the shutdown made her anxious and she turned to the tribal commodity program instead. She says she depends on food aid for her entire grocery budget and that feeding three growing grandchildren can be a struggle; at the end of the month she often stretches meals with plain rice and whatever else is on hand.
Disruptions to food assistance tend to hit American Indian communities especially hard. Valarie Blue Bird Jernigan, a professor of medicine and rural health at Oklahoma State University, notes that well over half of Native households rely on programs like SNAP and tribal commodity aid as their primary source of food. Research indicates nearly half of Indigenous Americans experience food insecurity each year—about 46 percent—compared with roughly 10 percent of the overall U.S. population.
When SNAP payments were temporarily suspended, tribes moved quickly to fill the gap. Reservation rules generally allow people to enroll in either SNAP or the tribal commodity program but not both, so many households applied to tribal commodities while SNAP benefits were in limbo. Nicholas White, manager of the Salish and Kootenai Tribes Commodity Program, says demand surged as people sought reliable access to food.
Some tribes responded with drastic measures. The Blackfeet Nation declared a state of emergency and slaughtered 18 buffalo from its herd to feed community members. Many tribes culled more bison than they otherwise would have, a short-term response that could slow the recovery of nascent herds and undermine longer-term food security.
Other responses came from nonprofits and local initiatives. On the Fort Belknap Reservation, the Day Eagle Hope Project redirected grant funds to buy cattle and distribute meat through temporary food banks serving Assiniboine and Gros Ventre families. Grants originally intended to support local farmers and ranchers were repurposed to meet immediate needs, and tribes boosted distributions from self-funded food programs.
Those extra efforts and expenses are unlikely to be fully reimbursed. Yadira Rivera of the First Nations Development Institute warns that absorbing shortfalls will leave tribal organizations with financial strains going forward, and some tribal food programs expect to remain stretched through the busy holiday season.
Although a funding deal eventually restored SNAP for a full year, households that endured weeks of uncertainty may face lasting consequences. Families that scrambled for food sometimes delayed rent or other bills; studies link loss of food assistance to higher eviction risk and other financial fallout. Georgetown Law professor David Super notes that losing SNAP benefits can force people into impossible trade-offs between food and medications.
For now, Lefthand says switching to the tribal commodity program kept her from falling behind on bills. She plans to stay on commodities for a while and intends to return to SNAP when the timing works—but faces a bureaucratic hurdle: to re-enroll in SNAP she must leave the tribal commodity program for at least a month to qualify.
This report is part of NPR’s health reporting partnership with Montana Public Radio and KFF Health News.