As an ASU alum and previous beneficiary of the Pitchfork Pantry, I couldn't help but draft a letter after reading this recent article about the organization's struggle to gain increased University support. I wanted to provide insight into how valuable the pantry is to students, and urge ASU to exercise its empathy bone for those who have food insecurity.
In the spring 2021 term, I was a student in my first semester at ASU after transferring from NAU. I had many reasons to make that decision, not the least of which was that I could not stand being so isolated in such a scary moment in history — I had just returned to in person classes after the height of COVID-19, and my support system was still down in the Valley, attending school at ASU. While I would eventually come to be glad for this decision, ASU did not make the transition especially easy for me.
To cut to the point, my financial aid was delayed severely.
I did not have enough money to pay my tuition, let alone to cover needs such as rent and food. I did what ASU President Michael Crow suggested and discussed my situation with Financial Aid, and received an emergency grant of $500. This helped me to afford some groceries, but I felt I had a moral imperative to put the majority of it toward my share of rent; it's not as though my 19-year-old roommate was in a much better position than I to be shouldering that burden.
If you have not been there, I want to help you understand it. Being in that position — little to eat, stretching boxes of pasta as long as they will go, saving meals for days you know you need to study more and endlessly applying for jobs with no fruition — it feels like the world is pressing in on you from all sides. It makes you feel like your life is an exercise in futility and shame.
I hunted for control of my situation anywhere I could find it. I applied and was denied for state assistance. So I started counting calories and cents, looking for foods that would keep me going the longest for the least amount of money, while also looking to get by on the least amount of food possible. It’s no surprise that food insecurity is linked with an increase in eating disorders, according to a 2020 review published in the National Library of Medicine.
Vying for control constantly could not put more of it in my hands, but instead left me exhausted, overwhelmed and burned out. My relationships and mental health suffered, as did my studies. Spring 2021 is the only time in my life I failed a class.
That semester, my meals came from two places: my generous friends who helped me when they could, and Pitchfork Pantry. The pantry was wonderful, providing me with as much food as I could handle carrying on my walk home, and sometimes more. I recall the first time I stood in that long line in Lot 59, so happy to be able to eat but needing to stop for rest every little bit because the plastic bag full of cans dug into my shoulder. I brought home my spoils and laid them out on the living room floor: beef soup and bags of pasta, and more cans of beans than I'd ever had before.
I had not arrived early enough to receive any of the produce items, and that would be true the whole time I was using the pantry. Part of this was due to the fact that I did not have a car, and I was living in a neighborhood that is underserved by public transportation. Part of it was simply that the need was too great and the supply was too low.
READ MORE: USG-T takes action to support funding for Pitchfork Pantry
I felt both happy and guilty to have that food. I worried about taking a resource from someone else who needed it more. I thought about my fellow students who were parents, immigrants or those couch surfing. How much harder is it to find a place to live on an empty stomach?
The truth of hunger is this: You do not have the time to wait for bureaucracy to offer you whatever money you may or may not be eligible for. You need to eat today, and the day after that. It would be a tragedy and a misstep for ASU to prevent its community from rising to the occasion and providing a vital resource to those in need.
Late in the semester, the financial office finally awarded my aid, and I could eat again without the help of others. I would love to say that I relaxed, that I went on to lead the rest of my college career with the knowledge that I would not be hungry again. In reality, I spent the rest of my time in school sick to my stomach at the turn of each new semester, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It took me more than a year to start eating properly again, and my relationship with food sustained damage that took a lot longer to mend. Even now, more than a year after graduating, I know I have been given an experience I will be working to avoid for the rest of my life. Not having enough to eat is harrowing, and I cannot imagine how much worse it would have been without help.
Editor's note: The opinions presented in this letter are the author's and do not imply any endorsement from The State Press or its editors.
This content was contributed by an author who does not work at The State Press. If you are a community member who would also like to contribute, please email execed.statepress@gmail.com.
Edited by Katrina Michalak, Sophia Braccio and Pippa Fung.
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