Donald Trump’s food-stamp overhaul is beginning to bite

On a recent morning in Tucson, Wayne Zhang pulled his car around the back of a church. His 92-year-old father, Youde, who has dementia, sat beside him. They parked alongside a row of saguaro cacti and palo verde trees as volunteers from the Interfaith Community Services food bank loaded boxes of tuna, peanut butter and rice into their trunk. Youde receives money from the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Programme (snap), a federal welfare scheme known as food stamps. But recently his monthly benefits were cut from $293 to $161. Adjusting to the lower payments has been difficult, says Wayne. “Here we can get my dad a little bit more food.”One in nine Americans receives food stamps; around 70% of recipients are seniors, children or people with disabilities. (REUTERS FILE)Across America, millions of people like Youde are finding life harder. One in nine Americans receives food stamps; around 70% of recipients are seniors, children or people with disabilities. But the One Big Beautiful Bill Act (obbba), passed last year without a single Democratic vote, is projected to cut federal spending on snap by about a fifth over the coming decade. Enrollment has already fallen by 12%, or around 5m people.But the obbba did more than cut food stamps. It shifted costs to the states and gave them a powerful incentive to reduce the number of people receiving benefits. As a result, many are tightening the programme’s administration in ways that may push eligible recipients off the rolls.For years after its creation snap enjoyed broad bipartisan support. The modern version of the programme was signed into law by Richard Nixon in 1971 amid concerns about malnutrition. “It was viewed as a national emergency, particularly critical for impoverished children and their life chances,” says Robert Greenstein of the Brookings Institution, a think-tank. But from the early 1980s onwards, Republicans repeatedly sought to trim the programme, with mixed success. The obbba used deep cuts to snap and Medicaid, the health programme for the poor, to partially offset the cost of its tax cuts.The law reduces federal spending on snap in three ways. First, it extends work requirements to more recipients—including veterans and homeless people—causing some to lose eligibility or drop off the rolls. Second, beginning in October, states will see their share of snap’s operating costs rise from half to three-quarters.Finally—and most consequentially—for the first time the federal government will no longer pay the full cost of snap benefits. Starting next year states that make too many errors determining recipients’ eligibility or benefit levels will have to pay some of those costs. Most will be on the hook for between 5% and 15%. That is likely to amount to $100m or more each year for almost half of states, according to the Centre on Budget and Policy Priorities (cbpp), another think-tank. Although that is a small share of overall spending for most, nearly every state must balance its budget. Richer states such as Connecticut say they can absorb the hit. Others, including Arizona, face much starker trade-offs.The bill-splitting will not begin until October 2027, but initial payments will be based on error rates from previous years. All but nine states have rates high enough to trigger payments. Brooke Rollins, the agriculture secretary, whose department oversees snap, argues that this is “further proof that state accountability is severely lacking”. But calculating snap benefits is complicated. They depend on household composition and net income. Routine changes in circumstances, such as a university student moving home for a month or a worker changing her hours, can lead to payment errors.States are scrambling to drive down their error rates “at almost any cost”, says the cbpp’s Joseph Llobrera. Many are demanding more paperwork and creating more red tape. Some, however, lack the staff and systems to process it. Arizona illustrates the challenge. Its welfare agency cut its workforce by 5% in 2025, and snap enrollment has since fallen by half. Michael Wisehart, the agency’s director, says Arizona has simply moved faster than other states to respond to the obbba. It has “already absorbed the initial shock” and is moving steadily towards “caseload stabilisation”, he says.The National Governors Association (nga) and several other organisations representing state officials have asked for the cost-sharing measures to be delayed until 2030. The pressure comes even from deep-red states. Speaking at an nga event earlier this year, Paul Rosino, a Republican state senator from Oklahoma, recalled the “panic” that swept through the statehouse when the obbba was unveiled. “We want to comply, we want to get our error rate down,” he said. “If we had more time, we know we wouldn’t be rushing through this and making more mistakes.”But a reprieve does not appear to be coming, leaving states to consider their options. Some, such as Ohio, are spending millions to upgrade their error-spotting systems. Others are hiring additional staff. The most drastic option would be to withdraw from snap altogether. The real test, says Mr Greenstein, will come not in the first year of the changes but during the next recession, when demand for snap is likely to rise just as state tax revenues fall. “At that point”, he says, “you could see some dire decisions.” In a recent survey, 11% of state snap administrators said withdrawing from the programme was a potential risk.Back in Tucson, the changes are already reverberating through local politics. Juan Ciscomani, the Republican congressman for part of the city, voted for the obbba. As people drive up to the food bank behind the church, they pass yard signs for Mr Ciscomani and JoAnna Mendoza, his Democratic opponent. Her parents were both farmworkers, and she grew up on food stamps. On the campaign trail Ms Mendoza says she doesn’t have to remind voters that Mr Ciscomani supported Donald Trump’s bill. “They know,” she says. “They tell me.”