We cannot continue to talk about student success, retention, and completion while ignoring a fundamental truth: our students are hungry—and many have been long before they ever stepped foot on our campuses.
Higher education is quick to measure GPA, persistence, and graduation rates. We build strategic plans, dashboards, and initiatives centered on “student success.” Yet, we rarely ask a more urgent question: How can students succeed when their most basic needs are unmet?
Food insecurity is not a peripheral issue. It is not a side conversation for student affairs or an initiative tucked into a campus food pantry. It is a crisis—and it is undermining everything higher education claims to stand for.
Recent labor data reveals that Black women—many of whom are mothers and primary providers—experienced some of the largest employment losses in 2025, including among college graduates (Wilson, 2026). This is not just an economic concern. It is a direct threat to the educational pipeline.
When women lose jobs, households lose stability.
When households lose stability, children lose consistency.
And when children grow up in instability, they bring that reality with them into our classrooms.
We cannot pretend that food insecurity begins in college. It begins in childhood — in homes where meals are skipped, where caregivers are forced to choose between rent and groceries, and where survival takes priority over learning. These conditions impact cognitive development, concentration, and emotional well-being.
By the time these students reach higher education, they are not just navigating coursework — they are navigating years of unmet need.
In my research, I found that food-insecure college students struggle not because they lack ability, but because they lack stability. They are more likely to experience difficulty concentrating, increased stress, and lower academic performance. Yet, institutions continue to respond as if the issue is academic preparedness rather than basic survival. Let’s be clear: you cannot tutor your way out of hunger.
The conversation becomes even more urgent when we consider the mental health implications. Students from food-insecure households—especially those whose families are currently experiencing unemployment—carry a dual burden. They are managing academic expectations while worrying about what is happening at home.
For many, particularly first-generation students and students of color, the pressure is compounded by responsibility. They are not just students; they are caregivers, contributors, and emotional support systems for their families.
This chronic stress leads to anxiety, depression, and burnout.
And when students leave our institutions, we often label it as attrition — without acknowledging the structural failures that pushed them out.
Higher education must confront an uncomfortable reality: our systems are not designed for the students we claim to serve.
We recruit students from underserved communities, celebrate diversity, and promote access. But access without support is not equity—it is exposure to failure.
Campus food pantries, emergency grants, and referral systems are important, but they are not enough. They are reactive solutions to a predictable problem. Students should not have to reach crisis to be seen.
We need a fundamental shift—from reactive support to anticipatory systems.
This means:
- Using data to identify students at risk of food insecurity before it impacts their academic performance.
- Embedding basic needs support into advising, enrollment, and retention strategies.
- Partnering with community and faith-based organizations that already serve as trusted lifelines.
- Expanding mental health services that recognize the trauma associated with economic instability.
It also means broadening our lens beyond the campus.
When over 500,000 women of color are unemployed, this is not just a workforce issue — it is a higher education issue. Students do not exist in isolation from their families. When their households are struggling, they are struggling.If we are serious about student success, we must be serious about the conditions that make success possible.
Food insecurity is not about food alone. It is about dignity. It is about stability. It is about whether students have the capacity to focus, to learn, and to persist.
As educators and leaders, we must ask ourselves: Are we truly committed to equity, or are we comfortable managing its symptoms Because as long as students are sitting in our classrooms hungry—physically, emotionally, and mentally—our conversations about success will remain incomplete.
And our systems will continue to fail the very students we claim to serve.
