For millions of Americans, the federal government isn’t an abstraction. It’s a paycheck, a housing voucher, a student loan payment, a disaster relief check. When the government shuts down, those lives shut down too. Yet here we are again — watching a small band of ideologues in Congress hold the nation hostage, threatening to turn off the lights on the very institution they’re sworn to serve.
Government shutdowns have become almost routine — not the rare constitutional crisis they were meant to be. Each one grows longer, costlier, and crueler. They are the political equivalent of self-inflicted wounds, a kind of performative dysfunction masquerading as fiscal responsibility. We’ve seen this play before: in 1995 under Newt Gingrich, in 2013 when Republicans sought to defund the Affordable Care Act, and in 2019 when a fight over the border wall cost the economy billions. Each time, workers suffered, businesses stalled, and trust eroded. Each time, the perpetrators claimed principle — but the outcome was pain.
The current standoff is no different. The victims will not be members of Congress, who still collect their paychecks and perks. They’ll be the 1.3 million federal employees who are either furloughed or forced to work without pay. They’ll be contractors — janitors, food service workers, security guards — many of them Black or brown, many of them women, who will never see back pay. They’ll be families who depend on food benefits, housing subsidies, and medical research programs that grind to a halt.
A government shutdown is not just a political inconvenience; it is economic sabotage. The 2019 shutdown cost the U.S. economy about $11 billion in lost output, according to the Congressional Budget Office. This one could surpass that if it drags on. When the government closes, loans stall, inspections stop, and data vanish. The Labor Department can’t issue jobs numbers, the Commerce Department can’t update GDP estimates, and investors are left flying blind. You can’t manage what you can’t measure.
For Black Americans, the consequences cut deeper. We are overrepresented in public-sector employment — roughly 18 percent of federal workers are African American, compared with 13 percent of the total population. Public service has long been one of the few arenas where Black workers could find stable employment, fair wages, and access to benefits denied in the private sector. So when Congress turns governance into a game, it’s not abstract for Black families — it’s a direct hit to their economic security.
And the pain doesn’t stop there. On November 1, unless Congress acts, SNAP benefits — the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program — will be disrupted for more than 42 million Americans, roughly one in eight people. The USDA has warned that no new benefit allotments will be issued without new funding. Households that depend on SNAP will see their grocery budgets collapse just as inflation keeps food prices high. States can’t fill the gap; they don’t have the cash or the authority.
The average household receives about $187 a month in SNAP support — a small sum that keeps food on the table and the local economy moving. Every dollar in SNAP spending generates roughly $1.79 in economic activity. When those benefits vanish, grocery stores, farmers’ markets, and community food distributors all feel the loss. For families already squeezed by rent and childcare costs, missing that November 1 payment will mean skipped meals and mounting stress.
The racial implications are unmistakable. Black and brown households are overrepresented among SNAP recipients because they are overrepresented among the working poor. In cities like Baltimore, Detroit, and Jackson, Mississippi, SNAP cuts will hit hardest in neighborhoods already grappling with high unemployment and disinvestment. Cutting food aid while a shutdown paralyzes other safety-net programs is a textbook case of policy violence — harm inflicted not through overt cruelty, but through bureaucratic neglect and political gamesmanship.
Programs like SNAP and WIC, which stabilize households, have become bargaining chips in budget fights. Affordable-housing programs that disproportionately serve Black and brown renters face funding interruptions. Federal contractors — from D.C. to Detroit — go unpaid. Each delay compounds existing inequities. Policy violence doesn’t always look like brutality; sometimes it looks like indifference.
Shutdowns also weaken the very argument for government itself. When the public sees a system that can’t keep its doors open, cynicism deepens. That cynicism is dangerous. It breeds voter apathy, distrust in institutions, and a kind of democratic fatigue that bad actors depend on. “See?” they say. “Government doesn’t work.” But that’s not proof — that’s sabotage.
The truth is that governance is a moral obligation. It’s not optional. We don’t expect firefighters to stop responding to calls because they disagree on the budget for hoses. We don’t excuse surgeons who walk out mid-surgery because they can’t agree on the hospital’s cafeteria menu. Yet in Washington, lawmakers treat shutdowns as just another tactic in the partisan toolbox — a way to score points and raise funds.
We need structural reform. Congress should pass an automatic continuing resolution to keep the government funded when budget negotiations fail. We should protect essential services — from food aid to paychecks — from political extortion. And we need to call shutdowns what they are: attacks on the American people disguised as fiscal prudence.
Every day the government stays closed, real people pay the price — in missed meals, delayed paychecks, and fraying trust. A nation that can’t keep its government open can’t claim to be the world’s leading democracy. Governance isn’t just about passing laws; it’s about showing up.
It’s time Congress remembered that.
