Help Wanted

Today I'm going to write about something serious. And embarrassing. Not because I delight in self-exposure or want to incur any kind of sympathy, but because this issue is important.

Today I'm going to write about WIC.

The WIC program is a food and health care subsidy program for low-income families. Pregnant and breast-feeding women, as well as women with children ages 5 and under, whose families make less than $34,000/year qualify for the WIC program, though not for all of the services. For example, if you make less than 34K but have private insurance, you don't need to use the program's health care services. Or if you're feeding your infant formula instead of breast milk, you receive fewer food vouchers but can still access cheaper health care. The WIC program is not a welfare program; no money is given and the food vouchers are meant to supplement rather than provide a family's monthly groceries. In this way, the program is distinct from food stamps or Medicaid; in fact, very low-income families can use the WIC vouchers and food stamps. And, in addition to qualifying financially for the program, participants must attend alternating classes and check-ups every three months to keep receiving food vouchers. Assistance for breastfeeding moms lasts for a year, but women can reapply on behalf of their children.

WIC is important. For low-income and especially poorly educated or immigrant families WIC provides not only essential food and health aid, but public and personal health information and care designed for women and children. Babies are weighed and measured and monitored for potential abuse or other problems. Mothers have their iron tested and are taught about proper childcare and nutrition; they are also initially screened for drug and alcohol issues and have access to pre- and postnatal advice. A lot of the subjects taught at WIC are second-nature to more educated, middle-class women (for example, don't drink or smoke while pregnant, or 8 oz of milk = 1 serving) but many poor women in America haven't been exposed to these concepts and WIC helps correct their ignorance in order to create safer, healthier homes for at-risk infants and children. It is sad but not surprising that most WIC participants, in Portland anyway, are Black or Latina.

But not everyone who makes under $34K/year fits into this model.

I am white, from an upper-middle-class background, with two post-graduate degrees and full-time employment. (In fact, until Halle's birth, I was over-employed with a full day job and an evening job as an adjunct professor teaching writing and literature.) I am married to a chiropractor and we have a healthy relationship. Our apartment is small but in a nice neighborhood, and I buy mostly organic groceries at a Whole Foods I can walk to. In the summer I buy into a CSA. We have excellent private insurance and two cars and no credit card debt. We even have modest savings and a stock portfolio.

But we're poor.

And there are a lot of families in America like us.

While our politicians are debating God's opinion on contraception, millions of Americans with college degrees and full time jobs are slowly trickling into the working poor. These people, my family included, make enough for rent, groceries and general health care, and so we don't seem poor. But we live carefully on around $31K/year, and spend a lot of time worrying about how we'll pay for Halle's daycare and education, or when we'll be able to stop renting and buy a house. The only reason we aren't living paycheck to paycheck is because we've saved and invested monetary gifts from our grandparents. And the only reason we have the occasional piece of nice furniture and good clothing is because our parents give us presents. These are humbling admissions and they fill me with shame.

But nothing has ever humbled me more than walking into the WIC office on Monday.

Why did I do it? I wasn't going to. I didn't even realize we qualified until a Healthy Start employee visited our hospital room the day after Halle was born, and then it took a while to adjust to the idea that we're poor enough to qualify for a government program. But I spoke with my husband and my mom (who worked as a nutritionist for WIC in the late seventies) and realized a couple of things. One, my taxes help pay for WIC. And two, it's important to show the government that assistance programs aren't just for unemployed minorities with too many children. Remember, WIC covers any family of three making less than $34K/year and I know a lot of privileged white 30-somethings in Portland who fit into that category. They're just not using these programs. And so our politicians don't realize how many Americans need them. Or, to put it another way: our politicians either don't know or don't care that the economy is so fucked that millions of college-educated, fully employed parents with carefully planned small families technically need help to survive.

So I went to WIC out of curiosity.

I was the only white person in the waiting room. I was the only white person period who wasn't a nutritionist. I was the only person in the waiting room with one child. (One nice lady had five.) I was the only first-time mom in her thirties. I was the only person with two W-2 forms and three things about me elicited surprise from the WIC employees: the fact that I breastfeed exclusively; my college and graduate education; and how healthy Halle looked. By the time my nutritionist received a negative answer in response to a question about drug and alcohol use during pregnancy she looked at me wryly and said, "I didn't think so."

But I qualify financially, so they didn't question my need for food vouchers. In fact, the women at WIC and the parents in the waiting room were so kind and non-judgmental that I wanted to cry. You see, I come from a world where this kind of need is synonymous with personal failure. I even hesitated over writing this experience down, and my husband didn't want me to publish it on my blog. But until we start illuminating the extent of need in our country, we'll continue failing to address it. We'll keep spinning rhetoric about how a college degree guarantees you entry into the middle-class. We'll keep pretending that the color of America's poor is always darker than white, and as such, an issue not worth addressing.

So I'm writing about WIC. And I'm going to share one last thing I learned this week.

Those food vouchers are heavily tied to American agribusiness. That's why I can get 5 gallons of milk and 3 pounds of cheese a month, plus brand name cereal, but I can't buy bulk oats (only single serving packages) or organic eggs (only large white eggs). In fact, the only organic items you can buy are the $10/month of fruits and veggies, a cash amount so low that you really have to buy conventional frozen foods and eat them sparingly to make it stretch. And I know you're thinking, "You spoiled brat. You don't need organic eggs or fresh produce." But isn't it a shame that a program established to help poor people doesn't teach them how to shop in bulk or prepare foods from scratch? That the foods don't support the local economy but are clearly based on lobbyist-generated national surpluses that put small farmers out of business and pollute the environment? Even a nursing mom doesn't need over a gallon of milk a week, and I certainly won't eat a pound of mozzarella. My food vouchers provide nutritious items, sure, but those items come along with pesticides, GMOs, questionable food safety regulations, and working conditions that exploit--yes--the very workers who qualify for WIC.

Joining WIC has given me a little assistance with food costs. But it's given me a lot to think about.