The Trump administration has repeatedly denied disaster mitigation funding to states hit by extreme weather events, another step in President Donald Trump’s plan to downsize and phase out the Federal Emergency Management Agency, and lawmakers aren’t sure why it keeps happening.

Since March, states including Oklahoma, Missouri, Iowa and Mississippi suffered severe storms, winds or wildfires and requested assistance through the Hazard Mitigation Grant Program at FEMA, which provides funds to help protect against future natural disasters. Unlike the Biden administration, Trump is no longer automatically approving those grants and has denied seven requests this spring, according to Bloomberg, while six requests remain under review.

Oklahoma made one such funding request after March wildfires and winds ravaged the state, killing several people and damaging hundreds of homes, according to the Oklahoma Department of Emergency Management. Those fires burned Gov. Kevin Stitt’s farmhouse to the ground.

FEMA approved several Fire Management Assistance Grants in Oklahoma, which help state, local and tribal governments cover fire-related damage costs, but it denied a request for mitigation funding in early June.

“Well, I’m usually on the side of my state, so we’ll wait and see what happens,” Rep. Tom Cole of Oklahoma said of the funding denial.

Oklahoma Sen. James Lankford said he’d have to see the requests in order to answer questions about the resilience funds. But while disaster aid is often necessary, it’s not simple, he said.

“There’s not a time, obviously, when there’s a disaster — maybe it would be a flood, a wildfire or our famous tornadoes — that we don’t need help from someone,” Lankford said. “But there’s a mixture of private insurance, state funding and federal funding, a formula set up on the federal side, to try to figure out when that actually kicks in. We’ve got to be able to make sure we actually meet that.”

At the beginning of June, the administration denied two requests from Missouri after tornadoes and storms in March and April killed residents and tore up communities.

Sen. Josh Hawley said he had talked to Trump about FEMA grants for Missouri in the past, which he was grateful the president had approved. But Hawley supports his state’s request for mitigation funding that Trump has since denied.

“It’s been a really tough spring in our state for natural disasters. We’ve lost almost 20 people, and all across the state, suffered a lot of damage,” Hawley said.

“We may have to go back and ask for more,” he said of FEMA funding. “We’re not able to do the recovery with what we’ve got.”

Bloomberg reported that Oklahoma received other federal funds it could use in a similar way to the HMGP grants and is not appealing the administration’s decision, but Missouri officials were already putting together an appeal.

In late May, the entire Washington delegation wrote to Trump after he denied aid funding for a November bomb cyclone that hit the state. The letter said the state’s request detailed over $30 million in damages, costs that local governments cannot and should not be expected to shoulder alone, including mitigation funding.

“Washington state’s first responders, local governments, and emergency management professionals have done everything within their means to begin recovery, but the scale of the damage requires federal support through the Public Assistance Program and the Hazard Mitigation Grant Program,” the letter read.

The administration denied the state’s appeal last week, according to The Seattle Times.

The White House said it’s seeing large amounts of funding across the board that haven’t been delegated to any specific project yet, and it wants to decrease that spending.

“The Trump administration is monitoring the approval of HMGP with states’ ability to execute those funds,” White House spokesperson Abigail Jackson said in a statement. “We are working with states to assist them in identifying projects and drawing down balances in a way that makes the nation more resilient.”

The post Lawmakers Don’t Know Why Trump Keeps Denying Disaster Mitigation Grants appeared first on Oklahoma Watch.

After years of exponential growth, opioid overdose deaths in Missouri are dropping. 

While health care workers, community groups and other officials say many factors may contribute to the drop in opioid overdose deaths, they agree that access to overdose-reversing drugs like naloxone, often provided under the brand name Narcan, is saving lives. 

“I do think that Narcan is the reason for those trends statistically dropping,” said Cooper County Ambulance Chief Brandon Hicks. “I see Narcan in a lot more homes than I used to, and I do see family members administering Narcan prior to us getting there.” 

In 2014, the state saw 360 opioid overdose deaths from drugs other than heroin. By 2021, that figure rose to 1,493, state data shows.  

After increasing through 2021, the trend started changing. The number of deaths flattened in 2022 and began dropping in 2023. By 2024, non-heroin opioid overdose deaths had fallen to 876. 

Central Missouri and the St. Louis area saw the largest drop in drug overdose deaths, dropping 38% and 35%, respectively. 

But after responding to opioid overdose calls for years, Hicks sees the need for more access to treatment and better coordination between emergency services and long-term care, especially in rural areas. 

That belief is shared across community health organizations. Access to things like peer support specialists and community resources is an essential piece of the puzzle, according to Derek Wilson, who runs harm reduction at the AIDS Project of the Ozarks, which serves 29 counties in southwest Missouri. 

“I think there is a particular bit of challenge when you come up against some of these societal things,” Wilson said. “When you get into a more rural area … there’s a ton of stigma. There’s still a lot of shaming, whether it’s self-shaming or from outside sources.” 

Wilson hopes that a continued focus on naloxone distribution, coupled with community support and more access to medication-assisted long-term treatment, can continue making inroads in rural communities. 

Did Missouri’s naloxone distribution plan lead to the drop in overdose rates? 

In 2016, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration began a new grant program for states to receive federal funds for addiction treatment, recovery and harm reduction services. 

The federal money and state settlement dollars from opioid litigation allowed Missouri to increase investment in addiction treatment and overdose prevention. Early funds were mostly used to support treatment efforts. But as the response evolved, the state began investing more heavily in distributing naloxone across the state. 

From 2017 to 2023, the Missouri Institute of Mental Health (MIMH) distributed nearly 430,000 naloxone kits across the state. In 2023 alone, nearly 250,000 kits were given out, including more kits shipped off to local health departments, social services and first responders, according to a report from researchers at MIMH. 

In their report, researchers connect the drop in overdose deaths with the availability of naloxone across the state. But other rural health researchers think more time is needed to truly understand the drop in deaths. 

“It’s encouraging, but I don’t think we know exactly why it’s changed,” said Kelly Price, a rural addiction researcher in Vermont. “It’ll be interesting to see how it plays out over time … It does sometimes seem like it takes a little bit longer to see those effects that you see nationally in some of these more isolated rural communities.” 

MIMH researchers also pointed to the westward movement of fentanyl across the country. Data show that eastern parts of the country see lower levels of fentanyl-related deaths, while they are rising in western parts of the country. 

Hicks sees the need for better data collection for health officials to truly understand the trends, especially in smaller counties where funds for autopsies may not align with death rates. He pointed to the prevalence of opioid-related cardiac events. 

“We just did a community health assessment,” Hicks said. “We identified that there’s really not been any opioid deaths in Cooper County for quite some time. The problem is that they’re getting ruled cardiac arrest.” 

“At the end of the day this is a true statement, their heart stopped,” he added. “When it comes to pulling statistics, nobody sees the opioid deaths that we do have.” 

If someone’s heart stops as a result of an overdose, naloxone won’t revive them without chest compressions. Researchers at the American Heart Association found that of the 360,000 cardiac arrests from 2017 to 2021, 8% were caused by drug overdoses. 

Part of the problem in collecting that data, Hicks said, was funding for autopsies. If the county only budgets for a certain number of autopsies, it can be difficult to determine whether a death was related to drugs in other ways besides an overdose. 

“I have one gentleman that I have (used Narcan on) three times that’s been in cardiac arrest, and after the third time, he literally told me: ‘See, I can do whatever I want. You’re going to be here to save me,’” Hicks said. “We can’t save somebody who is dead, and they can’t save themselves either. But if they get Narcan before we get there, usually they refuse care.” 

But Stephanie Malita, a health educator at the St. Joseph Health Department, says peer support specialists who are active in the area report that the number of overdoses someone experiences isn’t relevant to their recovery outcomes. 

“Peers will say time and time again that some of them overdosed multiple times,” Malita said. “But eventually they got to the point in their lives where they were ready and had a support team around them to make that very scary leap into non-use.” 

Addressing fear of law enforcement when treating overdoses 

Studies show that despite Good Samaritan laws, which offer legal protection for people who are witnessing or experiencing a drug or alcohol overdose, skepticism remains when it comes to calling first responders in the event of an overdose. 

Missouri’s Good Samaritan law provides immunity from things like possession of controlled and synthetic substances or paraphernalia, as long as someone is actively seeking medical assistance. It also requires law enforcement to provide treatment resources. It does not protect against other crimes like distributing a controlled substance or active warrants. 

Hicks regularly runs into that fear when he responds to overdose calls. If 911 is called, the person overdosing often has already gotten a dose of naloxone, and law enforcement almost always arrives at the scene before EMS.

“People don’t want law enforcement, they feel like they’ve done something wrong,” Hicks said. “So we usually encounter somebody who is angry and upset … because they’re scared of getting arrested. They didn’t want to go to jail, they just wanted to live.” 

He and his staff take extra steps to differentiate themselves from law enforcement when responding to overdose calls. They don’t wear button-up shirts or badges to try and make people feel more comfortable. 

“I appreciate law enforcement,” Hicks said. “But I don’t want to be associated with them in these scenarios, because then I can’t help somebody like we’re supposed to help them.” 

How to address the need for long-term care in rural Missouri 

Wilson and the AIDS Project of the Ozarks are working on ways to make naloxone more available across their coverage area. The group places drop boxes with naloxone kits in places like libraries and other public settings, so it is available to the community 24/7. 

To find where to access free naloxone, click here.

It’s an investment that Malita and the health department, which was one of the top county recipients for naloxone kits from the MIMH, are looking at making as they continue naloxone outreach. 

But more attention is needed when it comes to connecting naloxone recipients with longer-term addiction care. Things like distance to a provider, income, transportation and child care are often cited as roadblocks for rural patients seeking care. 

Hicks said he hopes to see more investment in things like transportation to crisis centers. He also pointed to integrating 911 and 988, the national suicide and crisis hotline, as a way to ensure Missourians are getting the care they need. 

“The emergency room is just not the place for a lot of people in these situations,” Hicks said. “More mental health support (is needed), not a physician that tells them to go seek care elsewhere once they’ve fixed a very temporary problem.” 

Price pointed to data that shows starting people on medication-assisted treatment, including buprenorphine or naltrexone, after an overdose and then connecting them with a long-term provider has been shown to be an effective approach. 

Things like expanded access to telehealth, where people can meet with providers in the privacy of their own homes, can also help people in smaller communities seek care in ways that are more fitting for them. 

Wilson said reducing stigma so everyone feels comfortable seeking care is a priority. 

“I do think it is something that is thicker in rural areas, the idea of not wanting to get into it, and: ‘Why don’t those people just go take care of themselves? Why don’t they stop?’” Wilson said. “It’s just not that simple, not with the way that substances interfere with our brain chemistry.” 

“It’s just a human being and things get away from them,” Wilson said. “Then they find themselves in very, very horrible situations.” 

The post Opioid overdose deaths drop in Missouri, but rural areas fight stigmas, barriers to care appeared first on The Beacon.

A major storm took hold across swaths of the central and southern United States on Wednesday unleashing extreme flooding and huge tornadoes from Arkansas up to Michigan. And conditions are expected to worsen on Friday as soils become saturated and water piles up: The National Weather Service is warning of a “life-threatening, catastrophic, and potentially historic flash flood event,” along with a risk of very large hail and more twisters. Eight people are so far confirmed dead, while 33 million are under flood watches across 11 states.

While scientists will need to do proper research to suss out exactly how much climate change is contributing to these storms, what’s known as an attribution study, they can say generally how planetary warming might worsen an event like this. It’s not necessarily that climate change created this storm — it could have happened independent of all the extra carbon that humanity has pumped into the atmosphere — but there are some clear trends making rainfall worse.

“In a world without the burning of fossil fuels, this event would happen once in a lifetime — that’s kind of what the National Weather Service is saying,” said Marc Alessi, a climate science fellow at the Massachusetts-based Union of Concerned Scientists. “But with the burning of fossil fuels, with more heat-trapping emissions, with a warming planet, this event will become more frequent.”

Rainfall is changing because Earth sweats. When the sun evaporates water off Earth’s surface, that moisture rises into the atmosphere, condenses, and falls as rain. But greenhouse gases trap heat up there, so the planet sweats more in response. In other words, it strikes an energy balance.

A warmer atmosphere also gets “thirstier”: For every 1 degree Celsius of warming, the air can hold 6 to 7 percent more water. That means more moisture is available to fall as rain: This weekend, the slow-moving storm is forecasted to dump as much as 15 inches of rainfall in some areas. “The sponge, which is the atmosphere in this case, will become bigger, which allows the sponge to hold more water and carry it from oceans farther inland,” Alessi said. “That could be tied into this event here.” 

The body of water in question here is the Gulf of Mexico. An outbreak of tornadoes and heavy rain is typical for this time of year as warming waters send moisture into the southern and central United States. And at the moment, the Gulf of Mexico is exceptionally warm. “There’s a lot more fuel for these rain-producing storms to lead to more flooding,” Alessi said. (The influence of climate change on tornadoes in the U.S., though, isn’t as clear.)

So a warmer Gulf of Mexico is not only producing more moisture, but the atmosphere is also able to soak up more of that moisture than it could before human-caused climate change. Indeed, the U.S. government’s own climate assessments warn that precipitation is already getting more extreme across the country, as are the economic damages from the resulting flooding. That’s projected to get worse with every bit of additional warming.

The problem is that American cities aren’t built to withstand this new atmospheric reality. Urban planners designed them for a different climate of yesteryear, with gutters and sewers that whisk away rainwater as quickly as possible to prevent flooding. With ever more extreme rainfall, that infrastructure can’t keep up, so water builds up and floods. And with storms that last for days, like those tearing through Arkansas and Kentucky right now, soils get saturated until they can hold no more water, exacerbating flooding even more. On Thursday, rescue crews in Nashville, Tennessee were scrambling to save people trapped by surging water levels. 

Now scientists will have to pick through the data to figure out, for instance, how much additional rain the storm dropped because of the sponge effect and warming of the Gulf of Mexico. But the overall trend is abundantly clear: As the planet warms, it doesn’t always get drier, but wetter, too.

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline Did climate change supercharge the ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ storm pummeling the central US? on Apr 4, 2025.

Republicans in Washington, D.C., are searching for ways to reduce federal spending to offset the cost of implementing parts of President Donald Trump’s agenda.

One possibility already hinted at by the House of Representatives is cuts to Medicaid, the joint federal and state program that helps with medical costs for people whose income and resources are very limited. 

While the plan is in the early stages, it would direct the committee that oversees Medicaid to reduce the amount the federal government spends in a way that all but guarantees cuts to the program. 

Medicaid provides insurance coverage for more than 70 million Americans. In Missouri, the program — called MO HealthNet — covers more than 1.3 million, or one in five people in the state, across different eligibility groups. 

About 70% of Missouri’s Medicaid funding comes from the federal government. And for the adult expansion group – Missourians who could enroll in Medicaid after voters passed expansion for the program in 2021 — the federal government picks up 90% of the tab. 

Missouri’s Republican Reps. Mark Alford, Sam Graves, Ann Wagner, Jason Smith, Bob Onder and Eric Burlison all voted for the House budget proposal. Democratic Reps. Emanuel Cleaver and Wesley Bell voted against. The measure narrowly passed 217-215. 

Despite voting for the proposal, Smith, who chairs the powerful House Ways and Means Committee, said Thursday he had doubts over whether the accounting House Republicans used in the proposal will abide by Senate rules. 

Cuts to expansion could mean about $560 billion in savings for the federal government over a decade. House Republicans want to use that savings to help pay for extending Trump’s 2017 tax cuts and other programs like border security, energy and defense spending. The extension is expected to cost $4.5 trillion. 

Trump said last week that Republicans “wouldn’t touch” Medicaid, Medicare or Social Security in their hunt to cut funding. 

Who relies on Medicaid in Missouri? 

The 2021 vote in Missouri expanded who was eligible to enroll in Medicaid in the state to adults who make up to 138% of the federal poverty level. The expansion opened the door for about 340,000 Missourians to enroll in the program. Prior to Medicaid expansion under the Affordable Care Act, Medicaid was mostly restricted for those who were disabled, elderly or pregnant. 

Rural Missourians rely more heavily on Medicaid expansion than Missourians in other areas. An analysis from the Georgetown University Center for Children and Families found that in rural Missouri, 15.2% of non-elderly adults were enrolled in Medicaid, compared to 12.2% in urban areas. 

The trend is similar for children in Missouri — 38.3% of rural children rely on Medicaid or the Children’s Health Insurance Program (CHIP), compared to 35.5% of urban children. 

Across the country, 41 states and Washington, D.C., have expanded Medicaid. Some states, like Illinois, have trigger laws that reverse expansion if funding from the federal government is reduced. 

Missouri and six states passed Medicaid via ballot measures, meaning the legislature cannot pass changes to the expansion without voter approval. 

How Missouri pays for Medicaid 

If the entire federal match for covering Medicaid expansion for the 340,000 Missourians were eliminated, it would cost the state $7.3 billion annually, according to an analysis by the Kaiser Family Foundation. 

Representatives from the department that oversees Missouri’s Medicaid program told lawmakers that the state could stand to lose between $30 million to $35 million for every percentage point decrease in the rate that the federal government pays for the program. 

If all states across the country were to absorb the cost of the federal government’s 90% match rate, states’ spending on Medicaid would increase by 17%, or about $626 billion. 

Republican Sen. John Hawley of Missouri announced that he filed an amendment in the Senate to prohibit budget cuts for Medicaid. 

“I would not do severe cuts to Medicaid,” Hawley told the Huffington Post. 

Congressional, statewide lawmakers search for other places for Medicaid cuts 

Another path Congressional Republicans are exploring for budget cuts includes imposing work requirements for Americans who seek health insurance coverage through Medicaid. 

Rep. Jim Jordan, a Republican from Ohio, said lawmakers may pursue work requirements, which would result in a lower rate of cuts compared to reducing or eliminating the federal match rate.  

Missouri’s Rep. Mark Alford, who gained national attention after a rowdy town hall in Belton, said that he would vote in support of work requirements for Medicaid. Last month, Rep. Bob Onder posted about his support for work requirements, calling it “good policy.” 

An analysis from the Center on Budget Policy and Priorities found that work requirements would put about 36 million Americans at risk of losing their Medicaid coverage, including about 457,000 in Missouri as of June of last year. 

During Trump’s first term, work requirements were an option for spending cuts his administration explored. His administration encouraged states to adopt certain waivers that only allowed Medicaid coverage if individuals met work and reporting requirements. 

Arkansas was the only state to implement work requirements from the waiver, before a federal court said the requirements were against the law. About 18,000 people lost coverage as a result. 

It’s a path lawmakers in Missouri are now considering, citing interest from the federal government in pursuing similar plans. 

Missouri state Sen. Jill Carter, a southwest Missouri Republican, is sponsoring a constitutional amendment to require Medicaid enrollees to work or participate in activities like school, volunteering or job searching to be eligible for the program. It would only go into effect with voter approval.

Medicaid cuts via work requirements in Missouri 

Carter’s proposal would apply to able-bodied Missourians ages 19 to 49 who are enrolled in Medicaid. They would be required to complete and document 80 hours a month of work or other activities. 

Data show that most adults who are enrolled in Medicaid are working or face barriers to finding work. A KFF analysis of work requirements found that 44% of adults on Medicaid aged 19-64 are working full time, while another 20% are working part time — about 16.6 million people. 

Among adults who were not working, 12% cited caregiving responsibilities, 10% cited illness or disability, 8% cited retirement or difficulty finding work and another 7% cited school. 

Estimates from the Congressional Budget Office found that if work requirements were passed, they would impact about 15 million Americans and 1.5 million people would lose eligibility for federal funding. 

The report found that the federal government would save about $109 billion over a decade and it could result in about 600,000 becoming uninsured. It also found that imposing work requirements leads to little increase in employment, due to disability or caregiving responsibilities cited by those who currently do not work. 

The post Medicaid cuts: What could happen in Missouri? appeared first on The Beacon.

(RNS) — In his second inauguration address on Monday (Jan. 20), President Donald Trump repeated his customary campaign speech promises to improve the United States’ credibility around the world, but after one such vow the president surprised some by announcing America’s resurgence would entail new names for some familiar geographical features.

“A short time from now we are going to be changing the Gulf of Mexico to the Gulf of America,” Trump said, “and we will restore the name of a great president, William McKinley, to Mount McKinley, where it should be and where it belongs.” A few hours later he signed an executive order doing just that.

Alaska Native leaders, as well as state politicians, object that the order undoes years of work with the federal government to establish Denali as the rightful name.

“Located on the traditional homelands of the Dene peoples, it reflects a profound spiritual and cultural relationship with the land,” said Emily Edenshaw, president and CEO of the Alaska Native Heritage Center. “Keeping this name honors that connection and recognizes the enduring contributions of Alaska Native peoples.”

In a statement on X, Alaska Sen. Lisa Murkowski wrote, “I strongly disagree with the President’s decision on Denali. Our nation’s tallest mountain, which has been called Denali for thousands of years, must continue to be known by the rightful name bestowed by Alaska’s Koyukon Athabascans, who have stewarded the land since time immemorial.” 

Denali, which means “the High One” in Koyukon Athabascan, is indeed the traditional name for the 20,310-foot peak in Denali National Park and Preserve, covered by snow and glaciers year-round and visible from hundreds of miles away. But the park has only been known officially as Denali since 1980, according to a National Park Service website. Despite the advocacy of the park’s first superintendent, Harry Karstens, for “Denali,” as early as 1913, it had been popularly known as Mount McKinley since at least 1901, after President William McKinley was assassinated, and the area became Mount McKinley National Park on Feb. 26, 1917. 

In the 1970s, the Tanana Chiefs Conference, a consortium of Athabascan tribes in interior Alaska, started working to change the name of the mountain but was blocked by the congressional delegation with McKinley’s home state of Ohio. In 2015, President Barack Obama’s secretary of the interior, Sally Jewell, changed the mountain’s name to Denali just in time for its namesake park to celebrate 100 years. 

Murkowski was part of that fight, she said in a statement on her website on Monday. “For years, I advocated in Congress to restore the rightful name for this majestic mountain to respect Alaska’s first people who have lived on these lands for thousands of years.” She added, “This is an issue that should not be relitigated.”

The Tanana Chiefs Conference did not respond to requests for comment on Trump’s executive order. Other Alaska Native groups say it’s too early to know how they’ll respond.

Trump’s wish to see it renamed for McKinley, the 25th president, a Republican who was assassinated early in his second term, appears to be motivated by Trump’s plans to broaden tariffs on imports. Monday’s executive order celebrates McKinley as a champion of “tariffs to protect U.S. manufacturing, boost domestic production, and drive the U.S. industrialization and global reach to new heights.” 

But Edenshaw argued that Indigenous values should take precedence. “These names carry the wisdom, identity and stories of the original stewards of this land. Restoring and honoring them acknowledges the deep, millennia-old connections that Indigenous peoples maintain with these lands and is a step toward respect and reconciliation,” she said.

Edenshaw’s organization advocates for Indigenous place names for a variety of reasons. “As we move forward in times of change, we hope to foster collaboration rooted in shared values of respect and understanding,” she said. “Together, we can celebrate the resilience of our shared heritage while building a foundation for reconciliation and unity across our great state and nation.”

If you stop at a roadside restaurant anywhere between North Dakota and Oklahoma, you might not immediately get a sense of culinary diversity. Many menus in rural and small-town middle America consist of high-calorie burgers and processed Caesar salads, along with a few trending items like Buffalo cauliflower or flatbreads. Of course, the region does include diverse cuisines, but you have to seek them out, and even those restaurants often depend on ingredients from massive food suppliers such as Sysco that tend to homogenize flavors. 

The middle of the country’s reputation for bland food completely ignores our Indigenous peoples. Within this core of America, dismissed by some as “flyover states,” lies a rich tapestry of culinary heritages. The states of Oklahoma, Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, Arkansas, the Dakotas, and Iowa are home to 58 federally recognized tribes, each with unique food traditions, including the amazing agricultural heritage of the Mandan, Arikara, and Hidatsa; the bison-centered foodways of the Plains tribes like the Lakota and Cheyenne; and the many cuisines of tribes forced into modern-day Oklahoma after Andrew Jackson’s racist Indian Removal Act.

As a member of the Oglala Lakota from Pine Ridge, South Dakota, a chef, and a historian, I see the massive potential in harnessing, cultivating, and elevating the Indigenous culinary creativity that permeates this massive region. A broad, Native-led restaurant industry could become a huge driver of food-focused tourism. I imagine a world where we could travel across this terrain, stopping at Indigenous-focused restaurants representing the many tribes, and experiencing the true flavors of the area. 

In Nebraska, travelers could taste heirloom hominy made with Ponca corn, sage grouse with wild onions, or venison with prickly pear. In the Dakotas and the Great Plains, they might find smoked venison with the rich Lakota chokecherry sauce called wojapi, or antelope with nopales and rosehips. In Oklahoma, Cherokee cooks could whip up grape dumpling soup with stewed rabbit and bergamot-fried onion with turkey eggs and plums for those passing through. These restaurants, with menus rooted in game dishes, heirloom seeds, and wild plants, would fit within a broader Native movement that acknowledges the contributions of Indigenous peoples, educates the public, transcends colonial borders, and promotes understanding about the biodiversity existing alongside cultures.

There’s a long way to go before this dream can become a reality. Many non-Native diners, if they think of Indigenous food at all, can only conjure up fry bread, a survival food taught to us by the U.S. military. Unfortunately, this food, made with commodity ingredients provided by the U.S. government such as white flour and lard, has also contributed to the high rates of diabetes and heart disease that our people have historically suffered. Though fry bread is now an inextricable chapter of our foodways, it should in no way be considered the full story. Other Indigenous culinary identities have been buried, just as Native stories and art are distorted through non-Native gift shops, galleries, and even museums.

Moreover, Native communities are largely economically cut out from other parts of the tourism industry, which brings in billions of dollars a year to each heartland state. This is especially true for national and state parks, lands that Native communities have stewarded for countless generations (despite some attempts at co-management and small economic programs to funnel money to tribes). In South Dakota, for instance, Black Hills National Forest and Mount Rushmore attracted 3.6 million tourists in 2021, but the poverty rate on the nearby Pine Ridge Reservation is 53 percent. Pine Ridge, like all reservations, is still segregated, with scarce economic opportunities. As Native residents struggle to find any kind of economic peace and survive in food deserts off government-supplied rations and junk food from gas stations, they also continue the fight for their ancestral spaces.

At the same time, the tourism industry could be a powerful tool for change — and this renaissance is already happening, if slowly. Native chefs and food entrepreneurs are working hard to showcase their cultures and reclaim their narratives, one dish at a time. Native-owned restaurants are proving that they’re not just relics of the past preserving traditional dishes, but living, evolving blueprints that continue to nourish and sustain their communities economically, as well as nutritionally, culturally, and environmentally.

Take, for instance, the work of chef Nico Albert Williams at Burning Cedar, a catering and education nonprofit project out of Tulsa, Oklahoma. At pop-up dinners, Williams offers menus with contemporary dishes like seed-crusted venison chops, smoky cedar-braised brown beans, venison and hominy stew, and Cherokee bean bread. It’s just one of several operations, including 2024 James Beard semifinalist Natv, that is making Oklahoma a hub for regional dining experiences.

At Owamni, my restaurant in Minneapolis, my team focuses on decolonizing our diet, removing ingredients like wheat flour, dairy, sugar, beef, pork, and chicken, all items introduced to the region not long ago. Through our cuisine, we are showcasing what’s possible, with dishes like slow-braised elk tacos with fresh tortillas from Potawatomi corn — made at our Indigenous Food Lab — finished with tangy maple-pickled onions, grilled sweet potatoes with maple and chiles; or slow-smoked bison short rib with bitter aronia berries, finished with pickled squash. 

It is unfortunately still rare to find Indigenous food businesses like these. One barrier is trying to define Native American food in a country that has no idea what that means, especially breaking down the oversimplified category of “Native food” to reveal the immense diversity across foodways. Another barrier is financing; good luck finding any of the support required to start businesses on a reservation, without a rich uncle, outside investors, or even reliable access to a bank account. Racial inequalities are very much baked into the systems and institutions needed to launch a restaurant.

Dismantling these barriers would require a lot of work, but it could start in public spaces. State and city governments can purchase from Indigenous food producers, such as farmers, foragers, hunters, and fisheries, which would help strengthen and grow much-needed food economies. Indigenous offerings should be made available in schools and hospitals to help normalize these ingredients on menus. If we highlight foods and cultures so they are not only acknowledged but cherished, a future can develop where the richness of our collective heritage is a source of pride and inspiration for every American. We can learn to embrace our amazing diversity instead of fearing it.

Indigenous foodways are attainable models of sustainability, offering a proud connection to the land. They also provide a path to food sovereignty, enshrining the right for Native peoples to define themselves on their own terms. But even if those arguments aren’t acknowledged by those who have ignored Indigenous needs for so long, Native restaurants could begin to rewrite the reputation of “flyover country.” The heartland could become a more desirable tourist destination, not just for its natural beauty, but for its cultural and culinary heritage. With every plate of smoked venison, heirloom hominy, or stewed rabbit, we get a little closer.

You are on Native land, so let us celebrate the vibrant, varied tapestry that is the true heart of America.

SPRINGFIELD, Ohio (RNS) — ‘It was a tough week,’ said Harold Herard, a Haitian community leader in Springfield and visitor at Central Christian Church on Sunday. ‘But today, we feel free.’

The post ‘Haitians are not eating pets’: Springfield faith leaders stand with embattled migrants appeared first on Religion News Service.

PORTLAND, Maine (AP) — The lawsuit is one of two in Maine that focus on the collision between the 2022 U.S. Supreme Court ruling and the state law requiring that schools participating in the tuition program abide by the Maine Human Rights Act, which includes protections for LGBTQ students and faculty.

The post Maine law thwarts impact of school choice decision, lawsuit says appeared first on Religion News Service.

(RNS) — If elected, Walz would be either the first or second Lutheran vice president of the United States, depending on how you count it.

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In Kirksville, Missouri, an entire floor of the hospital sits empty. The community could easily fill beds with patients — if only it could hire nurses and other workers to tend to them.

Just up U.S. 63 near the Iowa border, the Schuyler School District can’t keep teachers on the payroll.

A manufacturer wants to open its doors in the area, but worries about finding workers.

Although the open jobs may suggest otherwise, plenty of people want to live in rural Missouri — if they could find somewhere to live. The housing shortage across the state makes that difficult and thwarts efforts to draw workers and fuel local economies.

In smaller communities, homes are often old and need thousands of dollars in renovations to become livable, or they are newly built and more expensive than what many people can afford.

The rise in institutional investors that own and rent out single-family homes makes things worse, said Paula Hubbard, a real estate agent in Bolivar, Missouri.

“We face the same dilemma that everyone faces across the country,” Hubbard said.

But in a small town like Bolivar, every housing unit counts.

“We feel it on a smaller scale,” Hubbard said. “The difference of one, two or three houses has a reverberating effect in our community.”

Missouri’s affordable housing dilemma

Missouri’s population is consistently growing, though some parts of the state are seeing more growth than others.

And while the population grows, the supply of affordable housing wanes. A 2020 report from the Missouri Housing Development Commission found a shortfall of nearly 128,000 affordable rental units in the state. For every 100 low-income households in Missouri, only 31 affordable units were available.

The report stated that rural affordable housing projects aren’t perceived as a priority, despite 48% of the agency’s spending going to rural areas.

Another 8,300 affordable units will likely lose their status as affordable housing units by 2030 and consequently no longer qualify for tax credits, said Jeff Smith, the executive director of the Missouri Workforce Housing Association.

When those tax credits — handed out to developers in return for keeping rents low — expire, the landlords can charge higher market rates.

And new housing units aren’t built at a rate that matches the low-income units that sunset.

“At the rate we build through (the program),” Smith said, “we don’t come anywhere close to replenishing the number of units that lapse out of affordability each year.”

In Hubbard’s area, the hospital is in the middle of an expansion. But she’s concerned about where the staffers who will work in that hospital will live.

“As far as entry-level affordable homes, it’s almost impossible,” Hubbard said. “In every instance, it is a struggle to find someone the right house.”

Developers get subsidies for building low-income housing, and they see demand to build new homes for upper-middle class families. In the meantime, those who fall outside of those categories are short on options.

It’s a chronic problem in Missouri. With interest rates high, homeowners don’t want to sell, leaving inventory low. And homebuilders aren’t keen to drop a brand-new development into a small community when they aren’t sure enough people can afford to buy them.

Housing experts point to the idea of the “missing middle housing,” like smaller homes or duplexes that more people can afford. It’s housing that isn’t eligible for tax credits or other construction subsidies. Despite the demand, those styles of homes aren’t popular among developers.

A nonprofit regional planning commission in northeast Missouri thinks it has found a path to catalyze growth.

How northeast Missouri wants to solve its housing shortage

The Northeast Missouri Regional Planning Commission covers six counties in the top right corner of the state, including Adair, where Kirksville is located.

The group conducted a housing needs study and found that the area had the capacity for another 450 housing units. Employers and real estate agents who responded to the survey said they mostly need housing for workers.

To meet that demand and with buy-in from local electric cooperatives, the planning commission created a fund to build homes in the $180,000 to $240,000 range.

The commision wants to start with one home in each of the six counties it covers. The homes will be sold to the first eligible buyer, so bidding wars that drive up the prices won’t be a factor. To minimize the strain on local utilities, they’re building on lots where homes have been demolished or abandoned.

Derek Weber, the executive director of the planning commission there, said that 65% of the homes in the area were built before 1960. Those homes have a median price of $90,000. Another 20% of the homes in the area were built after 2008 and have a median price of $400,000.

That leaves a sizable gap when it comes to affordable homes.

“The middle 10% is your workforce housing,” Weber said, “and there’s just no stock.”

Because Missouri’s regional planning commissions are nonprofits, they and others who use the potential state program to build homes won’t profit when they sell them. Instead, the purchase price of one home goes to building another. And so on. Local lumberyards and construction companies will still get paid, but developers won’t make a profit from the sale of the homes.

Weber stole the idea from Nebraska. In 2017, Nebraska passed a rural workforce housing grant, which created a nearly $30 million fund to distribute to nonprofits across the state to build housing units to help attract workers to rural areas.

The northeast planning commission broke ground on its first project in March. And it wants Missouri to expand the program across the state.

Republican Rep. Greg Sharpe, who represents the area in Jefferson City, introduced legislation that mirrored Nebraska’s program during the 2024 legislative session.

During a hearing on the legislation, Michael Scheib, the CEO of Tri-County Electric Cooperative, a partner on the project, said that the Schuyler School District and area hospitals are interested in purchasing one of their homes.

“When we sit down with superintendents, they’ll say, ‘We get a teacher for one or two years, but the housing isn’t very good,’” Scheib said. “Schuyler schools are actually thinking about buying one of those houses and making it where a couple of young teachers could live in that house.”

Hospitals are eyeing the same approach when it comes to finding housing for their traveling nurses, he said.

“That’s my neighbors that can’t be served at that hospital because they can’t get nursing,” Scheib said, “because they don’t have places for those nurses to live.”

The planning commission and its partners believe that the undertaking is a way to slowly stir growth in their communities.

“We’re not looking to make a profit. We are looking to grow northeast Missouri,” Weber said during the hearing. “We’re trying to serve our community and create a way to bring a workforce to our region.”

With limited traction on the bill in 2024, Weber thinks next year will bring better luck. After the groundbreaking and as the word spread across the state, other groups like the Southeast Missouri Regional Planning Commission are watching to see if they could mimic the structure.

Despite all of the need for housing across Missouri, Weber said he felt that lawmakers in Jefferson City didn’t realize how bad the problem is.

“From the lawmakers I’ve spoken with, they look at it like it’s not their priority to get involved,” Weber said. “I don’t think they’ve attached the amount of homes we have to the workforce needs.”

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