From Oklahoma to D.C., a food activist works to ensure that communities can protect their food systems and their future.
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From Oklahoma to D.C., a food activist works to ensure that communities can protect their food systems and their future.
July 30, 2025
Tambra Stevenson (left) with Mary Blackford (center), owner of Market 7 food hall in Washington, D.C., and Ona Balkus, former D.C. Food Policy Director, at the White House Conference on Hunger, Nutrition, and Health in 2022.
Oklahoma sits at the center of the U.S. wheat belt, exporting grain across the world and supplying flour that fills pantries nationwide. It is a major pork producer and also part of America’s cattle corridor, ranking second in cow-calf operations that support the country’s beef supply. The state grows significant amounts of corn, soybeans, and sorghum as well. In short, Oklahoma is a powerhouse of food production.
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And yet in Oklahoma, where my roots run deep, too many people are hungry, with 15.4 percent of residents facing food insecurity compared with a national average of 12.2 percent. The state’s food landscape is marked by widespread food insecurity, limited grocery stores—especially in rural and low-income communities—and a growing dependence on dollar stores and food banks. Access to healthy food remains underfunded and undervalued.
Despite the fact that Oklahoma consistently ranks among the top 10 states for food insecurity, the political will to invest in equitable food systems is on life support. While Oklahoma lawmakers have enacted stricter regulations and oversight for the cannabis industry in recent years, they have not shown the same urgency or coordinated investment when it comes to strengthening the state’s food system. For example, for every food-related legislative bill, there are five for cannabis.
Tambra Stevenson at Oklahoma’s state capitol, in Oklahoma City. (Photo credit: Photo_by_Wheelz)
By contrast, in my current home of Washington, D.C.—a 68-square-mile district without vast swaths of farmland or a state department of agriculture—only 10.6 percent of District residents face food insecurity.
In D.C., food justice has a seat at the policy table through ever-growing, supportive infrastructure, including the D.C. Food Policy Council, which adopted the “right to food” as a policy priority around 2022.
Additionally, residents fight for their food rights. In 2024, for instance, they pushed back against Mayor Muriel Bowser’s decision to withhold a 10 percent Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) benefit increase approved by the D.C. Council, the legislative branch of D.C.’s local government. Under mounting pressure—including public demonstrations and potential lawsuits by Legal Aid D.C.—the mayor reversed course and agreed to implement the benefit boost.
Oklahoma and D.C. offer a tale of two plates: one undernourished by misguided politics but piled high with possibility, the other well fed through civic engagement and equitable governance (though there is, of course, room for improvement). The difference between the two isn’t land or resources—it’s participation, the heart of democracy.
I believe we need to equalize these two plates by pushing for food democracy in places where it has eroded. All people, not just corporations or disconnected policymakers, should have the power and agency to shape what’s grown, what’s eaten, and how we are nourished. We, the people, need to reclaim our food freedom and build food systems rooted in local economics, health, sustainability, justice, and belonging.
I was born and raised in Oklahoma, in the heartland of the U.S., to a family with deep agricultural roots. After emancipation from slavery in Texas, my great-great-grandfather Jiles Burkhalter and his wife Delia Lola “Delie” owned one of 13,209 farms operated by African Americans in Oklahoma. With more than 800 acres in McIntosh County, the Burkhalters grew food and raised cattle for themselves and the community, according to my 98-year-old grandmother, Ruby (Burkhalter) Tolliver, a retired nurse in Oklahoma City.
In the 1960s, however, the U.S. government authorized the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to construct Lake Eufaula, one of the largest man-made lakes in the country, in the southeastern part of the state. The project flooded over 105,000 acres, displacing thousands of Indigenous and African American families including my own, stripping them not only of acreage but also of agency.
“All people, not just corporations or disconnected policymakers, should have the power and agency to shape what’s grown, what’s eaten, and how we are nourished.”
Big agriculture and corporate lobbyists filled the vacuum, pushing policies that prioritized profit over people. Over time, as community institutions lost funding , so too did the platforms for everyday people to shape their food future—replaced instead by a top-down system that rewarded consolidation and disconnection. In the city of Checotah, where my cousin Leonard Hill sells the produce he grows at a nearby farm, only 1,212 out of 12,650 residents voted in the May 2025 elections. That’s less than 9 percent. That’s not apathy; it’s a sign that people don’t feel they have power. In some D.C. wards, more than 30 percent of residents show up to the polls.
Because of its diminished civic infrastructure and a supermajority of lawmakers aligned with corporate interests, Oklahoma is ground zero for Project 2025—a test site for policies that aim to shrink the public safety net, dismantle food programs, and silence local voices. What’s happening here isn’t accidental; it’s strategic. Oklahoma serves as the canary in the coal mine—a warning sign for the nation. While places like D.C. retain its SNAP increase due to organized networks of nonprofits, activists, and local leaders who push back, Oklahoma lacks the protective layers like the civic networks that once thrived.
The state’s rapid policy shifts are not just harming its own people—they’re laying the groundwork for what could happen across the country if communities don’t organize, speak up, and reclaim power over their food and futures.
Without a sustained structure for public governance, there’s no consistent forum to bring people together to coordinate strategies—and Oklahoma communities have little defense against threats to local and regional food systems. The unchallenged arrival of big box retailers like Walmart, for instance, has led to the closure of local grocers and reduced community control over the food system.
Inside the greenhouse at 3L Farms, Rentiesville, Oklahoma. (Photo credit: Leonard Hill)
In the absence of citizen-powered safeguards, Oklahoma is particularly vulnerable to state and federal threats to food security. In June, Oklahoma Governor Kevin Stitt was among the 13 Republican governors who opted out of participating in the federal summer nutrition program.
This, in a state where one in four children are hungry. In addition to missing out on $120 per child during the summer, leaving our kids without vital nutrition, the local food retailers that accept SNAP/EBT suffer—because every SNAP dollar spent can generate nearly $2 in local economic activity.
The federal government’s cuts to social safety nets over the last six months have left Oklahoma especially at risk as well. In February, the Trump administration weakened local food supply chains by cutting the USDA’s Regional Food System Partnerships program, which connected farmers to schools and food banks.
Then, on July 4th, Trump signed the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, substantially cutting funding for the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) and other nutrition programs that feed and educate our communities in need. Also this month, the administration terminated the Regional Food Business Centers program, leaving farmers without the critical infrastructure they need to grow and distribute food locally.
In states with stronger food democracy, where food policy councils, local leadership, and civic engagement are in place, communities are better equipped to resist and adapt to these cuts. But in Oklahoma, where civic infrastructure has been deliberately weakened, these changes will hit hard.
Despite the many challenges, Oklahoma is full of food freedom fighters—farmers, tribal leaders, and advocates—who are building pathways to reclaim power from the soil up. My cousin Leonard is one of them.
In Rentiesville, Leonard runs a teaching operation called 3L Farms, named after him, his wife Latitia, and their daughter Londyn, where he grows tomatoes, okra, peppers, squash, and cucumbers along with sunflowers and zinnias.
“Oklahoma is ground zero for Project 2025—a test site for policies that aim to shrink the public safety net, dismantle food programs, and silence local voices.”
Oklahoma is home to more than 18,200 Native-run farms. In partnership with Creek and Cherokee Nations, Leonard supplies farm-fresh produce to food banks and schools across the state, helping to fill the gaps left by state and federal retrenchment.
A father himself, Leonard built relationships with the local Heart Start programs and schools to deliver vegetables to families. And he’s transforming an old school into a community food hub for youth to grow, cook, and preserve what they harvest. His vision includes partnering with healthcare providers for food-as-medicine initiatives by providing them with local produce.
But producers and providers like Leonard, who are building power from the ground up, are the underdogs—and they can’t transform the system by themselves. They need the support of the people, partners, press, and policymakers to scale their impact and sustain their efforts. Still, they are showing that food democracy is not only possible—it’s already in motion. It just needs more hands and hearts behind it.
Leonard Hill of 3L Farms with Rachel Kretchmar of OKC Food Hub at the Oklahoma Local Agriculture Collaborative Conference in January. (Photo credit: Leonard Hill)
While Congress sets the broad rules of the game, passing legislation like the Farm Bill, it is local food policy councils that give everyday people a structured, sustained voice in shaping food policy that reflects community needs.
As a former member of the D.C. Food Policy Council, I saw firsthand the benefit of centering community voices in making food-system decisions. During my nine years on the council, I co-chaired the Nutrition and Health Working Group (now called the Health and Nutrition Education working group), where we worked to ensure the nutrition and healthcare sectors were fully recognized as part of the local food economy.
We convened public forums, set policy priorities, and developed reports that advised the mayor and the food policy director. We collaborated across agencies to assess the feasibility of these policies—not just in theory, but through real budgets, procurement rules, and program design.
Londyn, daughter of Latitia and Leonard Hill, at her family farm, 3L Farms in Rentiesville, Oklahoma. (Photo credit: Leonard Hill)
As a result, D.C. leads the nation in implementing innovative food-as-medicine programs like Produce Rx and medically tailored meals covered under Medicaid. Providing healthy food prescriptions to low-income residents, these programs reduce diet-related disease, drive revenue to local farmers and food entrepreneurs, and promote equity in how the government buys and distributes food.
Perhaps not surprisingly, these programs are most common in places with strong civic infrastructure and engagement. Yet even in D.C., we face structural limits: lack of statehood, budget autonomy, and full Congressional representation. In 2025, for example, the House of Representatives withheld over $1 billion from the District’s locally approved budget, using essential programs like SNAP as political leverage.
Additionally, we are facing a crisis in food access because of increased food costs, tariffs, and now cuts to federal nutrition programs. The East of the River communities (Wards 7 and 8) in D.C. have long been nutritionally divested, and the closures of Good Food Markets and Harris Teeter grocery stores have only intensified the problem.
While we watch plans move forward for a new football stadium in Ward 7, I challenge our city leaders to protect food democracy and ensure that the economic gains from such developments help fund our basic needs.
To reduce the discrepancy between food access in places like D.C. and Oklahoma—and to increase civic participation in undernourished communities—we must pursue four key actions.
1. Establish state and local food policy councils to drive food democracy.
Local governments, especially in states like Oklahoma, must prioritize the creation and funding of food policy councils to coordinate action across sectors. These councils serve as vital platforms to engage citizens in shaping policy around healthy food access, economic development, and equity.
2. Create pathways for participation in produce prescription and food-as-medicine programs.
State legislatures and local agencies must open clear pathways for farmers, healthcare providers, food retailers, and community-based organizations to participate in food-as-medicine programs. These initiatives allow low-income patients to receive fresh produce as part of their healthcare while also supporting local farmers and food entrepreneurs.
3. Support cooperative farming and retail networks.
State and local governments can strengthen food sovereignty by investing in cooperative farming networks and grocery co-ops that share risk, knowledge, equipment, and markets. That means also supporting small local farms like 3L Farms. These models support land retention, build resilience, and create alternatives to corporate-dominated supply chains.
4. Enact a Food Bill of Rights to protect the right to food.
Ultimately, we must recognize that food is not just a commodity or cash crop but a human right. A Food Bill of Rights can serve as a framework to guide food policy at every level of government—federal, state, and local.
“Local food policy councils give everyday people a structured, sustained voice in shaping food policy that reflects community needs.”
In 2021, Maine became the first state to enshrine the right to food in its constitution, affirming the prerogative of every person to grow, harvest, and consume food of their own choosing. California, New York, West Virginia, Iowa, and Washington are exploring similar legislation.
These four rights-based approaches empower communities to hold governments accountable and prioritize access to food, fair wages, and land. Local ordinances can play a role by funding cooperative groceries, expanding access to school meals, and ensuring public lands are used to grow food for communities in need. Let us treat healthy food access as essential infrastructure—just as critical as roads, bridges, and schools.
To my fellow food freedom fighters in Oklahoma, D.C., and everywhere in between: Don’t wait for a seat at the table. Build the table. Host community dinners. Meet with your representatives. Draft legislation. Testify at hearings. Ask how your school board, hospital, or city council is supporting or suppressing food democracy. Petition, protest, and plant seeds—not just kale or okra but of hope, justice, and power.
Across this country, our communities are suffering from food apartheid by policy. And if policy got us here, then policy can get us out—led by the people, for the people, and grounded in democracy. From the red dirt roads of Oklahoma to the halls of Congress, it’s time to balance the plates.
Let’s build a food system—and a nation—where everyone eats with dignity and power.
July 29, 2025
As the August 1 deadline set by President Trump approaches, some agricultural products will face new taxes. Others will be spared by new trade deals.
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