This piece is part of a narrative writing class at the Graduate School of Journalism of Columbia University that I took back in December.
As we rush from store to store, trying to escape the rain and the abundance of Santas that haunt New York City this time of the year, people on 109th Street, near Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue, stand still.
They are waiting for food in front of the New York Common Pantry. The queue fills half the block with people and carts. This is not their first time here, they know that the bags they are about to receive are easier to take home in a cart. While you can’t exactly call it social distancing, people give each other space, and a feeling of calm prevails as the line moves on slowly. Rattling metal shelves and Spanish music played on a large speaker mix together into background noise. Although most of the people on line are on the older side, some children queue alongside their parent (almost always singular). Some are sitting on chairs, others grouped together, talking and laughing, but they are all waiting.
While the holidays are always a busy time for food pantries, this year, the crowds are larger than usual. In the wake of COVID-19 and the rise of inflation, food pantries like this one have experienced an increase in people- and an increase in lines According to an analysis by Feeding America, a non-profit network of foodbanks, 1.8 million New Yorkers are currently experiencing food insecurity, that is more than 1 in 5 people living in New York City.
And the lines are growing. While the number of people in need of food has declined since the height of the pandemic, the number is still much higher than it was before 2020. According to the New York State Comptroller, prices have risen by more than 5% in October. While this number might seem low, if every item you buy has increased by just a dollar, the costs add up. And as prices in supermarkets climb, more and more people turn to food pantries.
The 109th Street pantry is small, the walls are brown and its windows are covered by bars. Next door is a tiny church called St. Edward the Martyr, which owns the building of the pantry, but that is the extent of the connection between the two, Anjali Krishnan, the pantry’s communications associate, said. Inside, the pantry feels larger. People are packing bags and cooking dinner. It is a busy place seven days a week — hunger never stops.
“We have volunteers lined up for November and December, and then there is a steep drop off in January,” said Greg Mensah, the pantry’s volunteer associate.
And while the inside of the pantry is bustling with volunteers, the people waiting, stay outside. Since its opening in 1980, the pantry has made an effort to never close its doors. As a result, the pandemic has made it impossible to continue the pantry’s services inside.
“I’m freezing,” a woman first in line says. “Yeah this is a tough process, but we try to do all we can,” the staff member replies. It is cold, and the wind feels sharp, cutting. With the cold comes the quiet; people are just waiting for their food, and the transactions are silent. “I get two,” one woman says. She is referring to the bags of food, and the staff member nods.
“Nobody walks away hungry,” one volunteer, Jose Hernandez, reassured me.
One of those in line is Ramone Ortiz. He grew up on 109th street, just a few houses down from the pantry. And while he does not live there anymore, he still comes to this pantry.
“The food here…forget about it, it’s the best,” Ortiz said.
People are waiting in line for the New York Common Pantry’s so-called ‘brown-bag distribution.’ And apart from the tinned and canned food that the pantry gives out, plastic bags filled with fruit and vegetables are also handed over to those waiting.
“Food changes based on availability and what we rescue, but a nutritionist picks out the food,” Krishnan said. However, the pantry is committed to healthy nutrition, as they want to show that it is possible to eat healthy food on a budget. The high quality has made the food pantry even more popular.
“They have good stuff…the vegetables bring me here,” said Joann Ward. She was hesitant, unsure if she had the time for a line that long today. Ward is not dependent on the pantry, but “it is a good way to save money,” she said. Ortiz, a stranger she just met, smiled at her and encouraged her to get some food.
Anyone who signed up is welcome and the process of food distribution on 109th street, looks seamless. Staff members yell out names, joke around in both Spanish and English and hand out the bags. While it seems to be working, it is not a supermarket.
Still, at the New York Common Pantry, everyone has the option to choose. In an effort to practice equity, the pantry allows everyone to choose their food online beforehand. A bag with your name waits at the pantry. Krishnan explained the pantry’s philosophy is that people have a right to nutritious and culturally relevant food; people have a right to dignity.
“[People are] just caught in an unjust system… [they] do not need to be grateful, we are doing a service, filling a gap that the government should provide,” Krishnan said.
Food pantries were once seen as temporary, but have become institutionalized over the years. That they are now a permanent part of our society has led to a debate among academics about the effectiveness of food pantries. As the pantries fill a lack, some argue that they ‘undermine’ the social safety net. By filling a gap, as Krishnan said, it might mean that political institutions don’t feel a need to provide these services themselves.
“I don’t know whether non-profits undermine the welfare state, but we shouldn’t give people food based on that,” said Matthew Maury, a researcher at Columbia’s Center on Poverty & Social Policy. He argues that the possibility of pantries hindering the welfare state “is not enough evidence to not give people food.”
Coming to a food pantry in the middle of fall, when it is cold, grey, and dark, you would expect that the faces in line match the cold days: long and gloomy. After all, people are waiting in line because they cannot afford the sustenance that keeps them alive.
A few older women grouped together and talk to each other in Spanish. While the sounds are foreign to my ears, the laughter between them makes it clear that these are not strangers. No grunts, shouts, or swearwords, laughter predominates any other sounds when you pass the line at 109.
“There is a sense of community, people come here with their friends and eat together in the park,” Krishnan said.
The time spent in a line can feel wasted. All you do is stand while seconds slowly — time always seems to move slower when waiting — pass. But the line at the pantry is filled with people who are not just passing time and waiting for their food. If you depend on the pantry, you come back to it, and as a result, you keep running into the same people. The New York Common Pantry becomes a place that is not about food alone; people meet each other and form relationships.
“Where do you run to when you don’t have family? You want to have somebody to run to. Sometimes your family is not always your family. You want to have somebody to care about you. For me, that’s the Pantry,” said a recipient of the pantry’s food and services.
On 109, a little further down the line, a man has pulled out a chair. “Go ahead love,” he says to the woman waiting in front of him. “I got too much on my backside, I think I might fall.” They, and the two women in front of her, discuss if the chair will hold her. “It looks like one of them cheap chairs,” she says. “The one I bought is $3,30… I got it from Amazon,” the owner of the chair replies. The woman, now curious, asks “what is it called?” “A collapsible stool.” As a response, she gets out her phone, types the words on her Amazon app, and shows the owner of the chair the outcome of her search.
“You got to get a good one, I need something that will last a long time,” the man says.
Babette Helena 