How Queer Organizers Feed Their People, from New York to Atlanta

By Nov. 6, 2025, hunger was in the headlines and on the streets. SNAP benefits had just expired in the government shutdown, and cupboards were running bare for millions of Americans. That night, Ginger’s, Brooklyn’s oldest lesbian bar, hosted an event organized by NYC Queers 4 Food Justice to distribute food, Covid-19 tests, Narcan, tampons, and more.

With Ginger’s usual Thursday karaoke night as backdrop, some 70 bar-goers perused the venue’s back room. 

Some came out with Lululemon-donated tote bags filled with cans of soup, loaves of bread, jars of peanut butter, packs of period pads sponsored by sexual wellness company LOLA, and bushels of apples, potatoes, or greens from a local Hudson Valley farm.

Paper proof of hunger was not required. Ginger’s bouncer did not check SNAP benefits or EBT cards at the door; as usual, scanning IDs to make sure attendees were at least 21. 

The government has since reopened, but the government-driven food insecurity and economic upheaval remains for many—especially with food-centric gatherings like Thanksgiving, Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, and Christmas ahead. This holiday season, LGBTQ+ groups—like NYC Queers 4 Food Justice in New York, Peach City Sapphics in Atlanta, the Brave Space Alliance in Chicago, and the Okra Project, which operates nationwide—are supplying their communities with much-needed essentials. 

An ‘inspiring’ turnout

NYC Queers 4 Food Justice was started by two community-minded New Yorkers, Kadie Radics, 29, and London Dejarnette, 24, in October 2025. In anticipation of federal SNAP cuts, Radics—the director of supportive housing at the mental health nonprofit Fountain House—sought help from queer groups to get a food distribution event off the ground, including the lesbian social club Butch Monthly. 

Dejarnette, a program coordinator at a nonprofit working to end student food insecurity, answered Radics’ call-out. They’d never met, but within a month, they’d planned and scheduled the first NYC Queers 4 Food Justice event: Nov. 6 at Ginger’s. 

“When I walked into that space on Thursday, every single butch or masc in there was ready to work and just wanted to know what they could do,” recalled Dejarnette. 

“The turnout that we had, and also the turnout of first-time food pantry-goers, I think, was really telling,” they added. Dejarnette found it “really inspiring to see that these people, who have been needing food assistance for a really long time [but] have not felt comfortable” getting help from a trusted source. 

NYC Queers 4 Food Justice’s inaugural event at Ginger’s fed dozens of people and raised more than $5,000 in donations, Radics said. On Nov. 19, the group raised more than $1,000 at Cubbyhole, a lesbian bar in Manhattan’s West Village neighborhood. 

“We want our food to be reaching people who need it most, because the people that need it most are the ones that have been left in the dust by the federal government,” Dejarnette said. “What we ultimately want to do is utilize this organizing power that queer people have had for generations.”

On hunger’s ‘edge’

The need for food is on the rise everywhere in the U.S. 

A years-long affordability crisis has grown acute. The longest federal shutdown in U.S. history worsened chronic food insecurity. 

Approximately 42 million Americans depend on monthly SNAP benefits, and the average recipient receives $187 a month, or about $6 a day. Halting those electronic payments created a ripple effect that hurt childhood nutrition and student learning, distressed family budgets, and sapped grocery stores of shoppers.

SNAP “was supposed to just be a supplemental resource, but because we are so deep in a food emergency, it has become a lifeline for so many Americans,” said Dejarnette, who has run food pantry and redistribution programs since college.

The government reopened on Nov. 13, but some SNAP recipients may have to reapply to the program to have their benefits reinstated, further delaying food access. 

Queer communities may be feeling that pressure more acutely. Research suggests queer adults are more likely than others to experience food insecurity. Nationwide, 1 in 4 queer adults between 18 and 44 years old rely on SNAP benefits to access food. 

Socioeconomic gaps are highest in the Midwest, where 35 percent of queer people make less than $24,000 per year, according to the University of California, Los Angeles’ Williams Institute which studies sexual orientation and gender identity law and policy. For non-LGBT people in the region, it’s 24 percent. The income gap between LGBT and non-LGBT residents of Rocky Mountain states is similar. 

Queer people in the South, which is home to the largest LGBTQ+ population of any U.S. region, face higher rates of discrimination, poverty, and homelessness. In Georgia, for example, 26 percent of LGBT people are food insecure compared to 17 percent of people who don’t identify as queer.

In Atlanta, a group called Peach City Sapphics is trying to spotlight the particular food needs of queer people in some of Georgia’s biggest cities who are struggling to pay their bills, find housing and transportation. 

“Queer people get pushed to the edge fastest because the safety net is already thin,” Peach City Sapphics organizer Ciara Peebles said in a written statement to Rewire News Group. 

Many members of the southern LGBTQ+ community don’t have “supportive families,” she explained, so “when benefits get pulled back, the consequences are immediate.”

Peach City Sapphics—which hosts not only mutual aid events but also community book swaps, reality TV watch parties, and crafting nights—saw the government shutdown hit its community in Atlanta and Athens hard.

“Food pantries were already stretched, but now the demand is constant. People are showing up earlier, lines are longer, and we’re seeing folks who’ve never had to ask for help before,” Peebles wrote. “Going into the holidays without those benefits has made things a lot harder—people are literally choosing between groceries, bills, and gas. There’s just no cushion anymore.”

Households across the country are making these kinds of difficult decisions. And queer organizations in cities across the country are stepping in to help.

In Chicago, the Brave Space Alliance is partnering with a network of local organizations as part of a Community Resource Day, offering free clothing, baby essentials, social services, and more. And nationwide, the Okra Project has launched a number of mutual aid funds to help Black trans folks meet their basic needs.

‘It felt safe’

Many people who need help may feel uncomfortable asking for or receiving aid, including those in the queer community, according to NYC Queers 4 Food Justice. 

That’s why having queer-run food programs with few restrictions—like not asking for ID or requiring online signup in advance—is so important, said Dejarnette, who said they grew up on food benefit programs, including SNAP.

“I had been aware that there were food pantries and options like that, but I didn’t think they were for me,” said Pierce Bartman, 24, who juggles multiple jobs, from social media and photography to restaurant work. 

“I think part of that is ego. Part of that is worrying that someone else needs it more than me.”

But when Bartman went to Ginger’s in early November, seeing so many familiar faces put them at ease. 

“My friends were the ones handing me the rice, and my friends were the ones organizing the event, and it was at my favorite bar,” Bartman said. “It felt safe.”

Bartman left with enough food to last the rest of the month. 

“We will always take care of one another,” Radics said, of the LGBTQ+ community. “There’s just something about that inherent oppression as a queer person, where we just have this shared understanding of love and consideration.”

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