Hunger Won’t Wait — Neither Will Denver
I still remember the quiet in our kitchen when food ran low — the kind of silence that feels heavy, filled with both worry and resolve.
My parents were refugees who came to this country with almost nothing but hope. They carried the weight of war and loss, and yet, they worked tirelessly to give us something better. Every dollar had to stretch, every can in the pantry had to count. Groceries were a luxury that often didn’t make the cut. And when that happened, we turned to programs like SNAP — what most people still call food stamps — to bridge the gap between getting by and going hungry.
I remember my parents sitting at the table after dinner, pretending they’d already eaten so my siblings and I could have the last bites. I remember the way their faces softened when food stamps came through — the small exhale of relief that meant we’d be okay for a little while longer. Those benefits didn’t make life easy, but they made survival possible.
And even in the hardest moments, my parents never stopped sharing what little we had. A neighbor who’d just arrived from Vietnam. A friend who’d lost work. My mother would quietly pack up a container of rice or soup, saying, “No one should eat alone in hard times.”
That lesson has never left me.
Years later, when Josh and I started our own family, that struggle came back in new forms. With four young kids, every grocery trip felt like a calculation of what we could live without. We’d put items back at checkout, skip meals ourselves, and hope the next paycheck would come fast enough. There were nights we held our breath at the register, praying the card would go through.
We, too, relied on food benefits and local pantries during those months when food felt like it might run out. Those programs didn’t erase the fear, but they gave us a fighting chance to stay afloat — and reminded us that dignity shouldn’t depend on your bank balance.
That’s why this moment — this news — hits so close to home.
Nearly 100,000 people in Denver rely on SNAP today. They are parents skipping meals so their kids can eat, seniors cutting pills in half to stretch their budget, and working families doing everything right but still falling short.
Now, with the federal government shutdown, Colorado has been warned there may not be enough funds to support SNAP starting November 1. That means families — families just like mine once was — could lose the help that keeps food on the table.
I won’t sugarcoat it. That’s terrifying.
The Ripple of Hunger
Hunger doesn’t exist in isolation — it echoes through families, neighborhoods, and entire communities. If SNAP is disrupted, food banks, schools, and nonprofits will feel the shock first. They’ll see new faces — families who never thought they’d be the ones in line.
I’ve stood in those lines. I’ve felt the mix of gratitude and shame, the quiet calculation of how long that bag of groceries might last. Hunger is not a personal failure. The failure is in a system that lets people go hungry in a nation and a city as resourceful as ours.
But here’s the truth: we don’t have to wait for Washington to fix this.
Denver has never been a city that waits. When systems break down, our people step up.
Community Is the Way Forward
Every major challenge we face — hunger, housing, safety — has one real solution: each other.
Community isn’t just how we survive; it’s how we heal, rebuild, and thrive. It’s the only way out of this mess.
Here’s how we can show up right now:
Donate to your local food pantry. Even a small contribution fills real plates.
Restock community fridges and school pantries. These neighborhood hubs keep families nourished day by day.
Support or host a community fridge. Take what you need, leave what you can — no questions asked.
Partner with organizations fighting food insecurity, like Mutual Aid Monday, Hunger Free Colorado, Metro Caring, and Denver Food Rescue.
Organize a neighborhood food drive or swap. A few families pooling resources can feed dozens.
Volunteer your time. A few hours can make the difference between empty shelves and a full pantry.
Share verified information. Make sure your neighbors know where to find help. (You can find resources at Denvergov.org/foodassistance.)
Host or join a community meal. Because food is more than nourishment — it’s connection.
Denver’s strength doesn’t come from policy — it comes from people. From us.
Neighbors Helping Neighbors
Denver is home to extraordinary organizations already leading this work: Kaizen Food Rescue, Spirit of the Sun, Sun Valley Kitchen, The LoVVe Project, Denver Community Fridges, We Don’t Waste, Food Bank of the Rockies, Southwest Food Coalition, Commún, Food for Thought Denver, Mutual Aid Monday, Denver Food Rescue, Re:Vision Coop, FreshLo Hub, Jewish Family Services, Struggle of Love, Front Line Farming, Denver Urban Gardens, and SAME Café.
They are not just organizations — they are the beating heart of our city. Support them if you can: donate, volunteer, share their work. Every act of generosity ripples outward. Every gesture of care makes us stronger.
Why This Matters to Me
I’m running for Denver City Council District 2 because I’ve lived what it means to fall through the cracks — and I’ve also seen the hands that reach out to pull you back up.
I’ve seen how quickly stability can vanish — one missed paycheck, one emergency, one delay in benefits. And I’ve seen what happens when community steps in: the neighbor who brings over a hot meal, the teacher who sends home an extra lunch, the volunteer who smiles without judgment.
Josh and I are raising our four children to believe what my parents taught me — that no matter where you come from or how much you have, your strength is measured by how you care for others.
We can’t control what happens in Washington. But here in Denver, we can control how we respond — together.
We can be the city that refuses to let anyone go hungry.
We can be the community that feeds, protects, and lifts one another.
We can be the example of what solidarity looks like when it’s not just a word — but a way of life.
Because a city’s strength isn’t measured by how comfortable life is for those at the top — it’s measured by how we care for those still climbing.
If the federal government falters, Denver will not.
When we feed each other, we’re not just sharing food — we’re sharing hope.
And hope, shared enough times, can feed an entire city.
In community and solidarity,
Trần Nguyễn-Wills
Candidate for Denver City Council District 2