The Real Story of Welfare
I recently learned about Aristotle’s belief that if the poor were to organize, they might overthrow the rich. He, like many of his contemporaries, believed this to be a grave danger. If they did overthrow the rich, it would be an injustice. This same belief was shared by the framers of the US Constitution.
James Madison actually called the wealthy elite at the beginning of the United States the minority of the opulent. They were, in fact, an elitist group of white, property-owning men who were deciding how the new republic would function. They were also deciding who would be left out of the decisions.
They, like Aristotle, believed it would be an injustice for the poor to overthrow the rich. But here’s where it gets interesting.
Aristotle believed that the rich were partly responsible for the welfare of the poor. While he didn’t call it a welfare state at the time, he did believe in limiting inequality. It was, in fact, unjust for the poor to suffer while the rich had so much at their disposal. And a fringe benefit? It would quell unrest.
But that isn’t how the framers of the Constitution saw it. Instead of limiting inequality, they effectively enshrined it. They protected the minority of the opulent. And in doing so, they limited democracy. I mean, if you don’t have a seat at the table, how can you participate in the discussion, right? Of course, we’ve seen this play out in our history. The Three-Fifths Compromise came before emancipation. Coverture came before women’s suffrage. And many communities, like the trans community, are still fighting for equality.
I think the spirit of The United States, at least as Thomas Paine saw it, was one where shared humanity trumped elitism. Paine was the guy at the dinner party who said the thing everyone else was too cowardly (or too comfortable) to say. While the founders were busy safeguarding their estates, Paine was out there trying to safeguard human dignity. Fresh off the boat from England (that’s right, an immigrant), he took the revolutionary spark and tried to light the whole house with it. He called for welfare programs, religious tolerance, and land redistribution at a time when most of the founders were busy protecting their property (which included enslaved people).
““When it shall be said in any country in the world, my poor are happy… my prisons are empty of prisoners… and the aged are not in want, the taxes are not oppressive… it is then that such a country may boast its constitution and its government.””
The United States can’t say that. According to Congress.gov, there are 42.8 million people living in poverty in the United States right now. That’s almost 13% of the population. According to the National Council on Aging, about 17 million older adults (≈ 1 in 3 of those aged 65+) are economically insecure. Of course, that’s its own kind of prison — if you’ve lived it, you know. But, actual prison is a real thing too. There are nearly 2 million people incarcerated right now in the United States (including jails, immigration detention, youth facilities, etc.).
It looks like the system built by James Madison, Thomas Jefferson, and the other framers, is doing exactly what it was supposed to do. The rich keep getting richer, and the poor are struggling.
As a matter of fact, over the last two centuries, the things that make wealth accumulation possible, like property ownership, capital investment, and access to education and technology, have consistently favored those who already have wealth. Think about it. Who really benefited during industrialization? What about globalization? Now, we’re in the era of automation. The wealth for the wealthy is growing far faster than wages have grown for workers. It feels like we are always promised opportunities. But the thing is, without structural redistribution, it mostly ensures that the rich get richer, and the poor have to pay for it all.
But something has helped along the way: welfare.
Welfare programs in the U.S. have been around for nearly a century. They started in the 1930s with the Social Security Act. It all began as part of FDR’s New Deal, a program to help people survive the economic tragedies of the time, like the Great Depression. That law created early public assistance programs for seniors, children, and people with disabilities.
Then in the 1960s, under President Lyndon Johnson’s “War on Poverty,” the system expanded. That’s when programs like Medicaid, Medicare, food stamps, and housing assistance became part of the American safety net.
I’ve benefitted from welfare programs. There have been many times when I’ve relied on Medicaid for my health insurance. And I’ve used SNAP benefits to put food in my pantry. I’m not the first person in my family either.
While it’s not quite the same as welfare, my great-grandmother benefitted from one of the government’s first experiments in economic justice and shared sacrifice. Here’s a picture of her WWII-era War Ration Book issued by the U.S. Office of Price Administration (OPA), probably around 1943.
Welfare usually means government assistance provided to individuals in need (cash aid, food stamps, housing support, etc.). Rationing, like the book my great-grandmother got, was about resource management — everyone, rich or poor, got ration coupons for essentials such as sugar, meat, gasoline, or shoes. The goal was to distribute limited goods equitably during wartime, keeping prices stable and preventing hoarding. Not welfare per se, but a form of collective care that ensured that no one, even the poor, was completely priced out of survival during war shortages.
Today, when people say “welfare,” they’re usually talking about a big ol’ mix of programs — things like SNAP for food, Medicaid for health care, Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), and housing vouchers. Together, these programs support tens of millions of Americans.
So how much does all of this actually cost?
In total, federal and state governments spend roughly $1.8 trillion dollars a year on welfare programs. That sounds like a lot, but there’s some context that’s important to know. The average taxpayer contributes about $30 to $40 of their annual federal income tax to welfare programs like TANF. The rest of the funding comes from a combination of payroll taxes, corporate taxes, and other sources.
So these programs are not really a tax burden. At least they are not a burden in proportion to their impact. They’re among the most effective anti-poverty tools in U.S. history, helping stabilize families, boost local economies, and reduce hunger and homelessness.
When people talk about “welfare,” they often assume it’s a one-way cost — money out, never back in. But that’s not true. Programs like SNAP and TANF actually stimulate the economy. The U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates that every $1 spent on SNAP generates about $1.50 to $1.80 in economic activity, because recipients immediately spend those dollars on groceries and essentials, keeping local stores and workers afloat. Similarly, research from Columbia University shows that cutting TANF ends up costing society far more — roughly $8 in lost productivity and increased health and social costs for every $1 withheld. So if the average taxpayer contributes about $30 of their federal income tax to these programs, that investment can return $45 to the broader economy — plus long-term social benefits like healthier kids, higher earnings, and stronger communities.
Dear Donald Trump and concerned U.S. citizens: Welfare isn’t a drain. Not at all. It’s a multiplier.
What blows my mind is that working people keep this whole system afloat, even while billionaires find loopholes to dodge their share. Even though billionaires often pay more in absolute dollars, the percentage of income they actually contribute is often lower than that of the middle class (8-12% is often their overall tax rate), thanks to loopholes and investment-based income. So for the wealthiest in the U.S., welfare costs them far less, proportionally, than it does the average worker.
In late October 2025, amid the federal shutdown that threatened SNAP benefits for roughly one in eight Americans, leaders stepped into the spotlight. When Elizabeth Warren said, ‘For the first time in U.S. history, the President is cutting off food assistance and telling more than 40 million Americans to eat dirt,’ she drew a clear moral line under the stakes. On the other side, Mike Johnson, Speaker of the House, pressed Democrats: ‘SNAP benefits for millions of American families are drying up … And the blame for this lies 100% with the Senators sitting over there in the Democrat Party.’ These dueling narratives highlight a critical moment — one where continuing the programs isn’t just a policy choice, it’s about whether we keep food on the table for millions. The conversation is loud. The question is: which side of history will our representatives choose?
The truth is, the current crisis isn’t about scarcity — it’s about choice. The Trump administration and Speaker Mike Johnson made the decision not to release emergency funds for SNAP during the shutdown, even though the money was available. That’s not fiscal responsibility; that’s political cruelty. Programs like SNAP, Medicaid, and TANF don’t just feed or treat people — they stabilize economies and save lives. Moving forward means refusing to treat basic needs as bargaining chips. In the short term, Congress can restore benefits immediately. In the long term, we can build a system that funds these programs automatically, insulated from partisan games — because hunger, health, and housing should never hinge on who controls the gavel.
As of Saturday, November 1, 2025, the federal government has not distributed the scheduled November Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) benefits due to an ongoing government shutdown. While two federal judges have ordered the Trump administration to use contingency funds to pay the benefits, there is currently a delay, and a full, nationwide distribution is not active.
If welfare programs were never disrupted and always equitably distributed, the U.S. would function more like a well-tuned safety net than a patchwork of emergencies. Every person who fell on hard times — whether from illness, job loss, or disaster — would have consistent access to food, housing, and healthcare without shame or red tape. Local economies would stay steadier, since money from programs like SNAP and Medicaid flows right back into groceries, rent, and care jobs. Poverty rates would plummet, kids would grow up healthier, and older adults could age with dignity. In short, we’d spend less time arguing about who deserves help and more time building a country where everyone has what they need to live — not just survive.
In the end, welfare programs aren’t about taking, they’re about protecting. They’re how we keep millions of Americans from falling through the cracks.
I like to think that we keep improving the spirit of the United States. And welfare programs are proof of that. They remind us that a society is strongest when it takes care of its people. I’d like to think that James Madison would say, “I admit, I was wrong.” And I’d like to think that Thomas Paine would be happy to see programs like SNAP keep operating even in the midst of a government shutdown.
But who knows what they would say. I only know what people are saying today.
What about you? Would you rather save your $40 a year and see the economy suffer, people go hungry, and the same institutionalized power win again? Or would you rather be a part of the change that ensures nobody ever fears for their stability and instead lives a life with peace of mind?