In a makeshift classroom in a Roseland low-income housing complex, nine women watched nutrition educator Denetria Adams saute a glistening mix of carrots, celery and onion.
Tammy Spivey, 60, raised her hand from the back row. “What’s worse, cooking oil or lard?”
“Lard,” Adams answered, stirring the steaming mirepoix with practiced ease. “It clogs your arteries.”
Across the room, fellow educator Christine Davis jumped in. “We always want to make sure we’re being cognizant of the type of fat that we’re putting into our bodies.” She rattled off a list of healthier alternatives.
Sunflower oil, olive oil, avocado oil. Spivey jotted down the names on her note sheet, then underlined each word twice.
It was the sixth session of a cooking class run by the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program Education initiative, or Snap-Ed. For weeks, Mercy Housing residents gathered to cover nutrition basics, build kitchen skills and learn how to stretch their food stamps.
It might also be one of the last.
In July, the federal program was abruptly cut under President Donald Trump’s sweeping One Big Beautiful Bill Act, leaving thousands across Illinois in the lurch. For decades, SNAP-Ed has partnered with dozens of Chicago organizations — from food pantries to public schools — to address the root causes of health disparities. Now, with just a few months’ notice, staff are dismantling a 30-year program carefully woven into the city’s social safety net.
“It was an absolute gut punch,” said Daylan Dufelmeier, who heads SNAP-Ed locally as the director of the Chicago Partnership for Health Promotion at the University of Illinois Chicago. “The work that we do is so important and so critical, so when we got caught in political crossheads, it was brutal.”
It’s the latest in a flurry of welfare cuts under the Trump administration. The president’s recent tax-and-spending legislation has slashed billions in federal food benefits and significantly reduced Medicaid access.
Spivey, a former quality control technician, has relied on food stamps and disability checks for as long as she can remember. When she used to cook for her now-grown daughter, both were essential to keep food on the table. She couldn’t always afford to prioritize nutrition.
“They cutting out the wrong things,” Spivey said. “It’s not right.”
In addition to nutrition education classes, SNAP-Ed programming includes food access directories, social media campaigns and advocacy work. According to staff, those initiatives prevent more than 5,000 cases of obesity and nearly 600 cases of food insecurity across Illinois each year.
For many low-income families, budgeting for healthy food options can be a challenge, experts say. That can lead to long-term health issues, including chronic diseases and nutritional deficiencies. But nonprofit research organization Altarum estimates that every dollar invested in the Illinois program returns between $5.36 and $9.54 in health care savings.
“People want to be healthier, they want to be physically active, but they don’t have the resources,” said educator Adams, as she spooned out heaps of rice.
Despite its documented success, the Republican-led House Committee on Agriculture said in May that the program has yielded “no meaningful change” since its inception in 1992, wasting taxpayer money. Funding will officially run dry Sept. 30, the end of the federal fiscal year.
This fiscal year, Illinois received nearly $20 million in funding for the program. About $5 million went to UIC, and the rest was funneled to the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign for statewide work. With the funding slashed, roughly 250 staff members will lose their jobs across the U. of I. system.
“These are people that are their communities building trust,” said Germán Bollero, dean of the U. of I. College of Agricultural, Consumer and Environmental Sciences. “That is at the core of our mission: transforming society to be a better place. It’s heartbreaking.”
Each year, SNAP-Ed is estimated to reach about one million Illinois residents, working with more than 1,800 community partners. About 1.9 million people in the state receive SNAP benefits, according to the Illinois Department of Human Services.
At Mercy Housing, Alma Watson, 63, flipped through the pages of her workbook, filled with lines of her cursive handwriting. She scanned a list of recipes — turkey tacos, skillet chicken breasts and baked sweet potatoes — each paired with nutritional information.
“People don’t know, and some people really need it. Like me, for one,” Watson said with a laugh.
It’s her second time taking the eight-week course at Mercy, where she’s lived for 15 years. Participants receive boxes of fresh produce and poultry to re-create recipes at home, enough to last Watson for days. But the real joy is being in the classroom again, she said, learning alongside peers. Most of them also depend on SNAP benefits.
“I love this setting. The people are really nice,” Watson said. “I just love everything so far.”
For SNAP-Ed staff, that positive feedback makes the impending shutdown harder. Educators Adams and Davis are set to lose their jobs in a few weeks, but their greatest concern, they said, is for the communities they serve.
Through the window, Davis pointed to a weathered convenience store across the street. Its neon posters advertised tobacco and soda. “Most of the (nearby) grocery stores aren’t really grocery stores. They’re markets like that,” she said. “(Residents) don’t have much of an option.”
Food deserts — areas more than a mile from a grocery store — have plagued the Chicago area for years, particularly on the South Side. While SNAP benefits are an immediate solution, SNAP-Ed helped chip away at those broader systemic issues, Dufelmeier said.
After funding runs out, operations will likely cease immediately.
“The impacts from the cuts to our programs you may not see next week, but it’s a long-term impact,” Dufelmeier said.
After the lesson, each participant received a paper plate with sauteed vegetables, chicken, rice and soy sauce. The room had buzzed with laughter, but it was quieter as everyone ate.
One resident ambled to the front of the room for seconds.
