CONCORD, Calif. — On Saturday on the streets of Washington, Donald Trump throws a costly, exaggerated military parade, a flashy display of waste and Vine Glory just to inflate egos of the president’s derived size.
Estimated tag: Up to $45 million.
That same day, White Pony Express volunteers and staff do what they have done for almost 12 years, taking completely delicious food that would otherwise be thrown out, and using it to feed the hungry and poor people living in one of California’s most comfortable and wealthy areas.
Since its founding, White Pony has processed and handed over £26 million in food (worth approximately 22 million meals) thanks to Bay Area benefactors such as Whole Food, Starbucks and Trader Joe. It was 13,000 tonnes of food, otherwise went to landfills and released 31,000 tonnes of CO2 emissions into the overheated atmosphere.
That’s justice, you can actually hear the Angels sing.
“Our mission is to connect abundance with needs,” said Eve Barge, White Pony CEO. He said that the principle of nonprofit leadership is “we are one of the human families, and when one of us moves up, we all move up.”
That mission has become difficult these days as the Trump administration takes the sickle into the country’s social safety net.
White Pony receives most of the support from businesses, foundations, community organizations and individual donors. But a considerable chunk comes from the federal government. Nonprofits could lose up to a third of their annual $3 million budget due to cuts by the Trump administration.
“We serve 130,000 people each year,” Birge said. “It puts a third of the people we serve at risk. If we can’t find another way to raise that money, we need to scale back the program. We should consider letting go of our staff.” (White Pony has 17 employees and about 1,200 active volunteers.)
“We’re a seven-day business a week because we’re hungry seven days a week,” Birge says. “We talked about something we have to take five or six days to pull back.”
She did not comment on Trump’s big self celebration, a Soviet-style display of military hardware – celebrating the Army’s 250th anniversary, with tanks, horses, mules, parachute jumpers and thousands of marching forces.
Marivel Mendoza wasn’t too quiet.
“All the broken programs use taxpayer dollars to pay for the parade?” she asked after the white pony delivery truck put on a pallet of fruits, vegetables and some other groceries.
Operating in a small office centre in Brentwood, Mendoza’s organization serves more than 500 migrant farm workers and their families across the Bay Area’s Far Eastern area. “I’m going to see people starving at some point,” Mendoza said. “It’s unethical and immoral. I don’t know how [Trump] I go to sleep at night. ”
Certainly not lighthead, his empty hunger groans growl out of hunger.
All foods processed with White Pony Express, including these peppers, have been checked for quality and freshness prior to distribution.
(Mark Z. Barabak/Los Angeles Times)
Those who work at White Pony speak of it with spiritual respect.
Paula Keeler, 74, took a break from her recent shift inspection produce to discuss the benefits of the organization. (All food coming through the door will be checked for quality and freshness before being trucked from White Pony’s Concord Warehouse and head office to one of the more than 100 community nonprofits.)
Keeler retired from his number collecting job in a Bay Area school district about a decade ago. She has volunteered at White Pony on Tuesdays and Wednesdays for the past nine years.
“It became my church, my gym and my therapist,” she said. She played pulsating rhythms and blues from portable speakers in a large sort room. “On Tuesday, I’m delivering to two senior homes. They’re mostly little women and I can sleep at night knowing that the fridge is full tomorrow. That touches my heart.”
Keeler had not heard of the Trump parade. “I don’t watch the news because I don’t want to see the news,” she said. Speaking about the spectacle and its costs, she responded equally.
“It’s kind of a prayer of tranquility,” Keeler said. “What can you do and what can you do? You’re trying to stick to what I can.”
Citing Joe Biden is not a trend these days, but the former president once said something worth remembering. “Don’t tell us what you value,” he often said. “Show me your budget and I’ll tell you what you value.”
Trump’s priorities – Me, me, I, they are the same as before. But there are some of the stomachs that are especially surrounded by the stomach about wasting tens of millions of dollars in a vanity parade, cutting back on funds that can feed those in need.
Michael Bagby has been volunteering at White Pony for three years, delivering food, training others, and driving the nonprofit truck fleet.
(Mark Z. Barabak/Los Angeles Times)
66-year-old Michael Bagby works part-time at White Pony. He retired after his career piloted a big rig, and began training white pony drivers about three years ago with delivery. His passion is fishing – Bugby dreams of involving deep-sea Merlins – but the hobby cannot nourish his soul as much as it helps others.
He knew Trump’s overstated pageant and its pointless price tags.
“Nothing I’m going to make a difference, whether the parade continues or not,” Bagby said, setting himself in a 26-foot refrigerated box truck taxi. “But it’s better to show interest in the true needs of the country, not the parade.”
His route that day stopped at a middle school and working-class church in Antioch, then called for a stop at a Mendoza nonprofit in nearby Brentwood.
When Bagby was pulled up to the church, the pastor and several volunteers were waiting outside. The modest white stucco building was bordered by dead grass. Traffic from nearby Highway 4 produced a slamming soundtrack.
“There are a lot of people in need, there are a lot of people,” said Tania Hernandez, 45, who runs the church food pantry. 80% of the food it serves comes from white pony, helping to feed around 100 families a week. “If they didn’t,” Hernandez said, “We wouldn’t be able to do that.”
With help, Bugby dropped off some pallets. He raised the tailgate and battered the latch and headed for the taxi. A member of the church walked and put his hands on it. “God bless you,” he said.
After that, we headed to the next stop.
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