A System Where Food Is a Weapon: America’s Battle for Control Over Hunger

In September 2022, the Biden-Harris administration held the first White House Conference on Hunger, Nutrition, and Health in over 50 years, celebrating the gains made in 2021 and boldly pledging to end hunger by 2030. Yet, despite the ambitious rhetoric, the fine print of the national strategy revealed a more modest goal: to cut the number of food-insecure households in half, from 13.5 million to 6.7 million by 2030.^C5 This would require lifting 844,000 households out of food insecurity every year for eight years — assuming no new families are pushed into poverty.

As the administration spoke of progress, pandemic-era support programs were quietly disappearing and food prices were rising. The end of universal free school lunches in the summer of 2022, just before the White House conference, signaled what was to come. By the end of the year, an additional 3.4 million households were struggling to put food on the table, bringing the total to 16.9 million — a stark contradiction to the administration’s aspirations.

The national food insecurity rate spiked from 10.4% in 2021 to 13.5% in 2022, marking the largest one-year jump since the 2008 financial crisis. By 2023, it had climbed to 14.3% — the highest since 2014.^C6

The child poverty rate more than doubled from 5.2% in 2021 to 12.4% in 2022, and reached 13.7% in 2023.^C7 The previously lauded progress had crumbled, exposing the lack of commitment to real change.

The nation is not moving forward; it’s collapsing backward — not for lack of resources, but for lack of moral clarity. The gap between what is promised and what is delivered grows wider as policymakers continue to offer band-aid solutions to chronic problems while resisting structural reforms that could lead to lasting change. Those in the halls of power remain distanced from their underfed constituents, preaching about progress while perpetuating the very crisis they claim to solve.

The solution to hunger is painfully simple: Feed people. But the American dream comes with a high price tag, where food isn’t treated as a fundamental right, but as a commodity sold to the highest bidder. In this land of plenty, 1 in 7 Americans still face impossible choices between putting nutritious meals on the table and meeting other essential needs.

The U.S. food system isn’t built to nourish, but to profit. And it’s not because there isn’t enough food.

According to the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), over a third of the entire U.S. food supply goes unsold or uneaten every year.^C8 That’s 38% of our food wasted in 2022.^C9 Some of it gets composted or fed to animals, but 33% ends up in the trash, filling up landfills with what could have been meals for millions. Food is now the single most common material waste found in America’s landfills. Why is food rotting while families go hungry?

The problem isn’t a lack of food — it’s a lack of food justice.

Missouri, an agricultural powerhouse with the largest concentration of PhD plant scientists in the world, and the second-highest number of farms in the country, is a microcosm of this crisis.^C10 Agriculture is Missouri’s No. 1 economic driver, yet the Show Me State is home to one million Missourians who still lack reliable access to nutritious food.^C11

Nearly 400,000 people are food-insecure in the Greater St. Louis region, including 1 in 6 children — enough to fill Busch Stadium, CityPark, Enterprise Center, and Chaifetz Arena with hungry kids.^C12 How can the heart of American agriculture still
be starving?

We have the resources, the technology, and the food. So, why are so many still hungry? Who’s standing in the way and denying people their right to food?

This disparity is not a logistical problem, it’s a systemic injustice that allows hunger to persist in the face of abundance.

“We’re the batteries to the matrix, and we feed their system. Our food comes from the system. Our shelter, our energy, our transportation — it all comes from them, and they depend on us to keep it running.

Food is the best weapon. You can control people’s ability to be satisfied, whether you deprive them or overwhelm them. You can sway their decisions. You control them.

It’s not about health. It’s not about feeding people. It’s about money.

In martial arts, philosophers who studied the art of war — true warriors, men in the world but not of the world — practiced winning the fight before it even began. They believed that if you had to get into a fight, you already lost. Those great fighters weren’t about fighting; they were about preserving life, preserving peace, and preserving family.

Food is peace. It’s life. You can’t have a well-balanced food system without peace. Right now, it’s all warfare — corporate and commercial warfare. The corporate, dead system is against the living system. 

The system is set up to extract resources. It’s about getting what I want from you by any means necessary. And if you stand in the way, you’ll be dealt with. All the great healers were dealt with. All the great leaders were dealt with.”

Born at a hospital that no longer exists in North St. Louis County, Ra Ward grew up in the projects, with little access to resources. He developed a deep connection to the land spending time with family in rural Mississippi and learning to grow food. But like many, he’s watched as a system built on exploitation continues to suffocate communities.

Ra grows food in North St. Louis City, where most neighborhoods bear the stigmatizing label of “food desert.” The term refers to the lack of grocery stores in a designated geographical area. Policymakers and mainstream media have long been quick to blame food deserts for food insecurity, deflecting from the real issue: the lack of good food policy. The food desert narrative is reductive, misleading, and dangerous.

There’s still something to buy and eat in these neighborhoods. The majority of them are not deserts without food; they’re what Erica Willams, founder and executive director of A Red Circle, has called “food swamps.” Fast food joints, gas stations, and convenience stores are on every block, offering nothing but ultra-processed, “food-like” products, far removed from anything real or nourishing. And the land itself is not a desert. The ground would grow food if we choose to heal the soil and plant a seed. But the choice lies in the hands of those who control the system, and for many, nutritious food remains out of reach.

If you have the cash, you most likely can buy all the organic food you want — no matter where you live. You can drive to any grocery store or have it delivered straight to your door. But for people trapped in poverty, nutritious food remains a struggle. Limited access to grocery stores means long commutes, and high costs make healthy food more difficult to afford. Food delivery services often charge substantial fees, with few options that accept SNAP/EBT, creating a system where easy access to nutritious food is reserved only for those who can afford it.

The Inequities of the Current Food System

In 2022, the food budget shortfall in the bi-state area hit a record high of $298 million, according to Feeding America.^C13 It’s not just the absence of grocery stores that’s keeping nutritious food out of reach, however; it’s the presence of segregation and systemic economic inequalities. U.S. Census Bureau data show that 21.3% of St. Louis City residents lived in poverty in 2020, including 33.3% of the city’s children.^{C14, C15}

According to Feeding America, 35% of Black residents in St. Louis City were food insecure in 2022, compared to just 13% of white residents. The disparity is even greater in St. Louis County, with 28% of Black residents experiencing food insecurity compared to 9% of white residents. Black people are 2.7 times more likely to experience hunger in the city, and 3.1 times more likely in
the county.^C16

It’s been a decade since Washington University and Saint Louis University published their For the Sake of All report, exposing the devastating impact of the unequal distribution of resources in the St. Louis region. Researchers told us that social determinants of health — such as income, housing, education, the quality and composition of neighborhoods, and access to healthy food and safe public spaces — are directly linked to health disparities. Where you live in the St. Louis region can mean the difference between life and death.

Ra lives in the Jeff-Vander-Lou neighborhood, where the For the Sake of All report uncovered a stark reality: A child born there will live 18 years less than a child born just a few miles away in Clayton.^C17
This 18-year difference in life expectancy is a death sentence determined by those who preside over our food system.

“Concentrated areas of poverty that are the result of persistent racial and economic segregation in the St. Louis region continue to have serious health and other social consequences,” researchers on the For the Sake of All report concluded. They found the lowest life expectancies in areas with the least resources and the highest concentrations of African Americans.

“We cannot afford to continue like this,” the researchers wrote. “Something has to change in order for everyone in the St. Louis region to be able to thrive and contribute to its growth and vitality.”

More recent Centers for Disease Control (CDC) data show life expectancy reaching 87.7 years in parts of Webster Groves, compared to just 60.7 years in Fairground in North St. Louis City.^C18 Imagine being 16.5 miles too far from being able to live an additional 27 years of life.

Systemic inequities lead to severe health disparities, and depriving people of life-giving food is the most crucial of them all.

“THE BACTERIA allowed us to exist, and now we’re at war with them. We’ve polluted our cells so much that they begin to crave rancidity. The cells crave toxins. We are addicts to our own demise. We’re at war with our food. We’re at war with ourselves. The food status that we’re in is a war status. It’s warfare.” – Ra Ward

The U.S. faces a chronic disease crisis fueled by a processed-food system. With 40.3% of adults struggling with obesity — a chronic condition that increases the risk for hypertension, type 2 diabetes, heart disease, and certain cancers — diet-related illnesses are now America’s leading cause of death.^C19

Combined with smoking and physical inactivity, obesity, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and high glucose create a deadly recipe for heart disease — the leading killer in both Missouri and the U.S.

Cardiovascular disease and stroke now take more than 940,000 American lives each year, and the financial toll is growing.^C20 A June 2024 study, which included Washington University, warns that the costs of these diseases — stemming from healthcare, lost productivity, and premature mortality — are on track to triple, from $627 billion in 2020 to $2 trillion by 2050.^C21

These are diseases of inequality — preventable if real food was as affordable as ultra-processed junk. How is food from the ground more expensive than manufactured food from a factory?

In communities facing systemic disinvestment, lack of access to nutritious food transforms food insecurity into dangerous nutrition insecurity.

Missouri is an unfortunate case study in this crisis. According to the 2024 Missouri State Health Assessment report, the Show-Me state ranks 40th out of the 50 states for overall health.^C22 Nearly 37% of Missourians were obese in 2022 — an increase from 29.4% in 2011. Black Missourians experienced the highest rate of obesity at 43.8% in 2022.

Heart disease deaths among Black Missourians were 24% higher than for white residents.

In St. Louis City, the diabetes mortality rate was nearly 62% higher for Black residents compared to white residents between 2011 and 2021.

Black residents in the city also have a 27.7% higher mortality rate from heart disease than
white residents.

The food crisis isn’t just about hunger — it’s about what kills us and what gives us life. The system has politicized food instead of treating it like the life-giving force that it is. This systemic neglect has engineered disparities where access to nutritious food is for the privileged, not a right for all.

We need a food system that nourishes and heals people. Anything less is “warfare.”

Nature has the Solution

Developing those regenerative cycles — that’s the key. Nature already has the model. All we need to do is let it be, and fit in. That’s the challenge.

America’s agriculture has been hijacked by industrialism. Small farms — once the lifeblood of local communities — have been swallowed by large-scale, monocrop operations. In 1935, the U.S. had 6.8 million farms; by 2023, this number dwindled to just 1.9 million.^C23 Farming has become a corporate game, and communities are losing.

Today’s landscape is dominated by monocrops like corn, soy, and wheat — crops that don’t primarily feed people. Corn, the nation’s top commodity crop, covers 90 million acres, yet nearly 40% is used for livestock feed, 45% for ethanol, and 15% for exports.^C24 What reaches our plates is often processed into high-fructose corn syrup, a staple in ultra-processed food-like products crowding underserved neighborhoods like those in St. Louis.

Missouri — a global agtech leader with a $93.7 billion agricultural industry — mirrors this imbalance.,^{C25, C26}
Corn and soybeans dominate two-thirds of all crop acres in the state, yet much of this output serves the processed foods, livestock, and biofuel industries. This misalignment diverts agriculture from feeding people to feeding profit, sidelining local food security in the process.

Agriculture may be Missouri’s top economic driver, but many families are still struggling to feed their children. Why, in a state so agriculturally rich, are so few resources dedicated to growing food that feeds local communities?

This imbalance contributes directly to Missouri’s diet-related health crisis. While the agriculture sector thrives economically, it does little to support the health of local residents. Instead, Missouri ranks near the bottom of the nation in overall health, with rising obesity and diet-related diseases disproportionately affecting marginalized communities.

Food City’s research analysis, based on our 2023 Food City Survey, indicates that food insecurity isn’t just a problem in North City; it’s also prevalent in nearby St. Charles County, where many lack access to adequate food.

The 2024 St. Louis Regional Foodshed Study by the Missouri Coalition for the Environment (MCE) underscores a stark misalignment in regional agriculture, stating that the “Foodshed is not growing food for people in the region to eat.”

The study reveals that only 0.3% of cropland within 150 miles of St. Louis City is used to grow food for direct human consumption, equating to just 51,215 acres allocated for fruits and vegetables requiring minimal processing.^C27 Meanwhile, 92.2% of cropland, or 18.6 million acres, is dedicated to producing livestock feed, oil, biofuel, and processed foods. This includes 7 million acres of corn for grain and silage and 9.1 million acres of soybeans, with nearly every county in the Foodshed cultivating one or both of these crops.

By aligning Missouri’s agricultural practices more closely with local food needs — by growing more crops directly for human consumption — we could address both food insecurity and the state’s growing health crisis.

Reclaiming agriculture for local communities is key to achieving food justice and ensuring that real, nourishing food is accessible to all Missourians, not just those who can afford it.

Missouri has the land, resources, and agricultural expertise, yet systemic priorities leave many without access to the nutrition they need to lead healthy lives. This underscores the critical need for food system reform, where agriculture serves
people over profit.

The fight for food justice is about reclaiming our health, our autonomy, and our humanity. This broken system has left us with pollution, hunger, and obesity.

Strengthening social safety nets and committing to long-term poverty reduction shouldn’t be radical ideas; they should be the bare minimum in a country that boasts wealth and abundance. Yet the response to this crisis has been tepid, as if poverty is an inevitability rather than a policy choice. It’s time to recognize that the absence of sustained action isn’t a failure of resources — it’s a failure of justice. The political will to end hunger exists only in rhetoric; now it must be forced into reality by those who refuse to accept a system that profits from scarcity while millions
go without.

If we envision a St. Louis where everyone has access to nutritious, affordable food, then policies must evolve to reflect that commitment. Achieving food justice demands transformative policies, sustainable programs, and dedicated financial assistance. This requires breaking down systemic boundaries and shifting from temporary fixes to transformative solutions that address root causes, redirect agriculture to feed people over profits, and prioritize sustainable support that uplifts our communities. It’s a matter of justice, health, and dignity. Dedicated food policy reforms could ensure healthy, sustainable, and equitable food for all.