Why we must expand the food stamp soda ban to outlaw all remaining lower-class joy

I was recently forced to step inside a conventional supermarket—a logistical error by my driver that left me stranded in the fluorescent purgatory of a mid-market Safeway. As I waited in line with my artisan sparkling water and responsibly sourced macadamia nuts, I witnessed a transaction that chilled me to my very core as a taxpayer. The woman ahead of me, paying with an Electronic Benefit Transfer card, successfully purchased a two-liter bottle of store-brand cherry cola.

I stood there, paralyzed by the economic injustice of it all. I had paid for that fizz. My hard-earned tax dollars were directly subsidizing the artificial coloring, the high-fructose corn syrup, and, worst of all, the fleeting moment of joy this person was clearly experiencing in aisle four.

Which is why I was profoundly relieved to read this week’s comprehensive study on the states that have bravely banned the use of food stamps to buy soda. The data is in, and it shows a modest decline in soda purchases among the lower classes. Let’s be honest: while a modest decline is a start, it is simply not enough. The fact that the results might not hold up in the long run only proves that we are being far too lenient in our oversight of the impoverished pantry.

Critics of these bans have called them paternalistic, cruel, and a logistical nightmare. They argue that singling out carbonated beverages does little to improve public health and everything to humiliate the poor at the cash register. To which I say: exactly. Humiliation is a vital and underutilized macroeconomic tool. If we remove the friction of public shame from the social safety net, what incentive does anyone have to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and secure a corporate lobbying job?

The radical left loves to point out that my own lifestyle is heavily subsidized by the federal government. Yes, I wrote off a $600 omakase lunch last Tuesday as a client discovery expense. Yes, the mortgage interest deduction on my third home costs the Treasury more in a month than a family of four receives in SNAP benefits all year. And yes, my media company’s PPP loan was fully forgiven despite us never closing our doors. But these are necessary investments in the engine of American capitalism. A subsidized piece of bluefin tuna generates wealth. A subsidized Dr Pepper merely generates a burp.

The medical establishment, always eager to coddle the vulnerable, has expressed skepticism about the bans. Public health researchers note that restricting one specific item often leads to substitutions—a family denied soda might simply purchase high-sugar juices or energy drinks instead. They claim the policy fails to address systemic nutritional deficits.

This is exactly the kind of bleeding-heart, empirical nonsense that is ruining the country. If the poor are substituting apple juice for cola, the solution is not to rethink the soda ban. The solution is to criminalize the apple juice. In fact, a source close to leadership tells me several state legislatures are already drafting bills to ban any beverage with a viscosity higher than tap water. If a drink coats the back of a spoon, it should be entirely self-funded.

Currently, when an EBT card is swiped for a restricted item, the register discreetly voids the transaction. This is a massive missed opportunity for civic instruction. If a food stamp recipient attempts to purchase a banned 12-pack of Mountain Dew, the point-of-sale system should immediately trigger a flashing red siren. The cashier should be legally required to announce, over the store’s public address system, that a subsidized citizen has attempted to indulge in a citrus-flavored luxury. The shame must be structural. The shame must be audible.

If we are serious about fiscal responsibility, we must view the soda ban not as a conclusion, but as a framework. If we can successfully code grocery store registers to reject a Sprite, we can code them to reject anything that brings a modicum of convenience to a low-income household. Why are we allowing SNAP recipients to purchase pre-sliced bread? Slicing bread builds character and burns calories. Why are we subsidizing frozen vegetables when a dried lentil requires twelve hours of soaking—time that could be spent reflecting on their poor financial choices? And do not even get me started on condiments. Ketchup is a privilege, not a right. A truly hungry person does not need their federally funded potatoes to be tangy.

Opponents frequently cite the administrative burden, noting that updating point-of-sale systems and policing the exact definitions of soda versus juice costs states tens of millions of dollars—often vastly exceeding the amount saved by the bans. But this betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of the conservative project. We are absolutely willing to spend forty million taxpayer dollars if it guarantees a single mother feels a profound sense of despair when her cart is flagged by the cashier.

The authors of the study—presumably tenured academics who have never had to balance the moral ledger of a nation—fret that the long-term dietary habits of the poor remain unchanged. They suggest education and better access to fresh produce would be more effective than punitive restrictions. This betrays a catastrophic misunderstanding of why we pass laws in the first place. I do not want the poor to eat better because they have access to fresh kale. I want them to eat better because I have legally cornered them into a state of flavorless submission.

I recently had lunch with a senior executive at a major beverage conglomerate, one of the companies whose product is directly targeted by these bans. You might think he would be furious about losing the SNAP market share. Instead, over our third round of tax-deductible martinis at Capital Grille, he leaned in and agreed with me completely. He noted that their premium syrups are crafted for the discerning palates of the middle class and above, and knowing their product is being consumed in a rented apartment fundamentally damages the brand equity.

We are at a crossroads in this nation. We can either continue to coddle the less fortunate by allowing them to experience the mild, bubbling euphoria of a carbonated beverage, or we can take the brave step of ensuring their grocery carts reflect the bleak reality of their economic station. It is time for state legislatures to double down. I will not rest until the only liquid legally purchasable with federal assistance is room-temperature tap water, dispensed from a public hose. And even then, I will be asking for an audit of the water pressure.