🌵 When the Desert Blooms: Food Banks, Power Rangers, and the Revolutionary Act of Feeding Everyone | MORNING VOICE
Inside the Community Food Bank's recipe for revolution, one culinary training program at a time
Based on the Morning Voice for 6/2/25, a daily radio show in Tucson, AZ, on KVOI-AM. Analysis and opinions are my own.
😽 Keepin’ It Simple Summary for Younger Readers
👧🏾✊🏾👦🏾
A community organizer named Kendall Foster helps run a big food bank in Southern Arizona that does way more than just hand out food boxes. 🍽️ They teach people how to cook professionally 👨🍳, deliver meals to seniors 👵, and work with Native American communities to build better grocery stores 🛒.
Foster believes that when communities work together like Power Rangers combining their powers 🤝🔋, they can solve hunger and help people build better lives 🌟. Instead of just giving people fish 🎣, they're teaching entire communities how to run the seafood industry while making sure nobody goes hungry 🏞️🌊.
🗝️ Takeaways
🔥 Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona operates across 5 counties with 81% philanthropic funding, achieving rare independence from federal politics
⚡ Kendall Foster champions "healthy masculinity" through Indigenous-rooted organizations like Sacred Sons and Boys to Men
🌱 Social enterprise model from DC Central Kitchen could revolutionize sustainability for Tucson's food bank operations
🎯 Gila River Indian Community's upcoming Whole Foods-style grocery store represents food sovereignty in action
💪 Foster's culinary training programs transform lives in 10 weeks, creating "rebirthed" graduates ready for the workforce
🤝 COVID-era collaboration models led by Betty Villegas show how strategic partnerships can serve unserved communities
🏹 Food deserts on tribal lands perpetuate health disparities through convenience store culture selling "diabetes in a bottle"
Rainmakers and Real Talk: When Food Justice Meets Community Power
Breaking Bread, Building Bridges, and Battling the Bootstrap Mythology
Picture this: it's a Monday morning in Tucson, and for once, the desert gods have blessed the Sonoran landscape with actual rain in June. Climate change has really shuffled the deck, hasn't it?
While most conservative talk radio hosts would be lamenting how environmental regulations are somehow causing precipitation patterns to shift (because surely it's the EPA's fault, not decades of fossil fuel worship), KVOI's "Rainmakers" served up something far more refreshing than the usual trickle-down talking points.
Host Lydia Aranda welcomed Kendall Foster from the Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona for a conversation that cut through the usual charity porn narratives and dug into the real work of community resilience. This wasn't your typical feel-good segment about generous donors and grateful recipients—this was a deep dive into systemic hunger, Indigenous sovereignty, and the radical notion that everyone deserves to eat without having to jump through bureaucratic hoops.
How revolutionary.
Kendall Foster: The Quiet Revolutionary in Golf Shoes
Foster rolled into the studio fresh from "playing golf in the rain" the day before—because apparently, even community organizers need their mental health moments. "That was nourishing for my soul," he explained, embodying the kind of self-care that conservatives love to mock until they realize that burnout doesn't serve anyone.
This man carries the weight of generational struggle and triumph with the grace of someone who knows exactly where he comes from. His grandmother was among "the first kids to go to a desegregated school"—a trailblazing "rainmaker herself" whose courage paved paths through Jim Crow's concrete barriers. His grandfather? "First black engineer here in Tucson."
Imagine that—actual pioneers who didn't need covered wagons or manifest destiny myths to make their mark on the Southwest.
Foster's humility shines through when he admits, "I've been almost too humble too many times to say, oh, no, that's not me... But now I'm starting to own my authenticity." There's something profoundly moving about watching someone step into their power, especially when that power is rooted in service rather than self-aggrandizement.
Sacred Sons and the Masculine Mystique Makeover
While toxic masculinity continues its death rattle across America's cultural landscape, Foster champions organizations like Sacred Sons and Boys to Men—groups that dare to imagine men gathering for something other than fantasy football or complaining about "woke culture."
These organizations spring from "native traditions, having sweat lodges, sitting around a campfire, speaking the truth and not having been judged or thrown back at it or weaponized against them." The model emerged in the 1980s when Vietnam veterans came home "struggling, struggling to talk, struggling to communicate. Couldn't find a safe space to do so."
Revolutionary concept: men supporting each other without tearing down everyone else.
The foundation rests on "The Four Agreements"—"always being impeccable with your word, never taking things personally. Don't make assumptions and always doing your best." Simple principles that would transform our political discourse if certain folks could manage to implement them for more than a tweet's duration.
Foster's work with Boys to Men includes "teaching just young boys how to play golf, how to hit a golf ball, how to drive a golf cart, all these simple things. It lights them up. It lights me up." Because sometimes mentorship looks like sharing the fundamentals, both literal and metaphorical.
Economic Development with Soul
Foster's professional journey spans tribal economic development across five counties, from Nogales to Wilcox. However, here's where his approach diverges from the typical extractive capitalism playbook: instead of treating communities as resource mines to be stripped and abandoned, he advocates for sustainable development that actually benefits the people who live there.
His excitement about the Gila River Indian Community's upcoming grocery store is palpable: "getting to be a part of their first native-owned and operated grocery store that's going to look almost like a Whole Foods." This isn't just retail expansion—it's food sovereignty in action.
The current reality on tribal lands reveals the absurdity of America's food apartheid. Foster's frustration cuts deep: "Nothing in that store is really, truly healthy. Nothing really is going to actually improve your quality of life... At what cost are you buying these items? That monster energy drink, it's not going to sustain."
When accessing fresh produce becomes a revolutionary act, you know the system is fundamentally broken.
The Community Food Bank: Beyond the Band-Aid Industrial Complex
The Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona operates like the nonprofit equivalent of a Swiss Army knife—multi-functional, reliable, and surprisingly sharp when needed. Spanning five counties with 81% funding from philanthropy, they've achieved something most organizations only dream about: independence from the fickle whims of federal funding cycles.
Imagine that—a social service organization that isn't constantly genuflecting before Congressional budget committees.
Foster describes their daily meal service running "five days a week from two to four every day" while simultaneously operating culinary training programs that transform lives in just 10 weeks. His description of graduation day captures the transformative power: "from starting from day one to the confidence of day, a week, week 10, they walk out a new person. And it's almost like you've seen this person be reborn."
This isn't charity—it's community investment. It's the difference between giving someone a fish and teaching them to revolutionize the entire seafood industry.
The Social Enterprise Vision
Here's where Foster gets properly radical, channeling his inner visionary: "There's an entity actually out in DC, called Central DC Kitchen, where they have a social enterprise... their community food bank, and their kitchen is actually producing meals. And items that they can actually sell."
The model is elegantly simple: create revenue streams that sustain operations while serving the community. "They use that money that reinvest right back into the operations, whether they might need another van, some better kitchen equipment."
Revolutionary? Hardly. Sensible? Absolutely. But try explaining sustainable nonprofit business models to people who think the invisible hand of the market will magically feed everyone.
Foster envisions replicating this model in Tucson: "We're the city of gastronomy. I mean, we love food. We thrive off out here in this region... I don't see why we can't make our own product, sell it, and also sell that off, and also again, spin this self-generation wheel to make us really, truly sustainable."
Food as Medicine, Medicine as Justice
The conversation tackled food deserts with the gravity they deserve—these aren't natural phenomena but deliberate creations of capitalist geography. When Aranda noted how "food prices are going up. Some people are losing their income, losing their jobs," she connected dots that mainstream media prefers to leave scattered.
Foster's response cuts to the heart of systemic inequality: "Folks are one paycheck away from disaster... They just made, they miss one bill. Now they're facing eviction. Now they're sleeping in their car and these things kind of spiral and then they kind of domino effect."
Personal responsibility advocates, take note: this is what structural violence looks like in grocery store aisles.
The ripple effects extend beyond individual suffering: "Do I sacrifice the fuel in my car? Do I sacrifice the insurance? Do I sacrifice food? Medicine. I mean, the list goes on and on." These aren't moral failings—they're policy choices made by people who never have to choose between insulin and rent.
The Bigger Picture: Networks and Solidarity in Action
What emerges from this conversation is a vision of interconnected support systems that would make mutual aid organizers weep with joy. Foster describes partnerships spanning from "South Side Presbyterian Church" to "St. Mary's Food Bank up in Phoenix" to various tribal symposiums and economic development initiatives.
His collaboration philosophy channels pure movement energy: "how do we link our arms together in terms of nonprofit community partners to really kind of alchemy? How can we alchemize this?... How can we really combine those powers like Captain Planet type stuff, like Transformers, like Power Rangers?"
Yes, he just compared nonprofit collaboration to Power Rangers. And honestly? That's exactly the kind of pop culture reference that makes grassroots organizing accessible.
The vision extends beyond emergency relief: "Kids going hungry in schools, that keeps me up at night. Seniors who don't have meals and can't get out of their homes. I'm not going to lie, that pisses me off too." That anger becomes fuel: "With that anger and that angst, I'm doing my best to alchemize it."
The Real Talk on Rural Realities
Foster's work with the Gila River Indian Community revealed stark truths about convenience store culture: "We keep Kalil Bottling Company in business. That makes me so pissed." The frustration isn't personal—it's structural. When healthy options are not available, people can't choose what isn't available.
The upcoming grocery store represents more than retail development: "Seeing this happen in these rural communities where they have better options and healthier food choices will literally change the way of their life." Food access becomes the foundation for everything else: "what you're putting in your mouth will dictate how you see the world, how you engage the world, and how far you can go in this world."
Radical concept: Maybe people make better choices when they actually have choices to make.
Community as Ecosystem
Aranda's tribute to collaborative governance during COVID reveals what's possible when leaders prioritize collective problem-solving over photo opportunities. She described weekly meetings convened by "then Pima County Supervisor Betty Villegas" bringing together "about 20 of us... who she felt were doing crucial work that were going into those unserved corners."
The approach was refreshingly practical: "What else do we need to be doing? What are we forgetting? How are we coming together like a jigsaw puzzle? We don't have to be in parallel. We really need to fit like those puzzle pieces."
Imagine that—governance that treats community organizations as partners rather than subcontractors.
Seeds of Change in Desert Soil
This "Rainmakers" episode illuminated something conservatives desperately want to obscure: collective action works. When communities organize strategically instead of competing for scraps, everyone eats better. When economic development serves people rather than profit margins, sustainability becomes a viable option.
Foster's invitation to community involvement cuts through nonprofit speak: "volunteer your ideas... This is not a one-man show nor a one-woman show... There are pockets in places that we probably don't even think about or don't even know about yet."
The Community Food Bank's model—from culinary training to mobile distributions to collaborative partnerships—represents more than hunger relief. It's community resilience, economic justice, and Indigenous wisdom wrapped up in a five-county operation that refuses to accept that anyone should go hungry in the land of plenty.
A Message of Hope and Action
In these times when authoritarianism masquerades as patriotism and cruelty gets rebranded as fiscal responsibility, voices like Kendall Foster's remind us that another world isn't just possible—it's already being built, one meal, one conversation, one community partnership at a time.
The rain that fell on Tucson that Monday morning wasn't just meteorological—it was metaphorical. Change is growing from the ground up, nourished by people who understand that our liberation is bound together, that nobody eats until everybody eats, and that the most radical act in a profit-obsessed world might just be ensuring everyone has enough.
Want to support the Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona? Visit their website for information on volunteer opportunities, donation options, and ways to connect your organization with their network, because building community resilience requires all hands on deck.
And if you want to keep reading sharp analysis that connects the dots between local organizing and systemic change, consider supporting Three Sonorans on Substack. Independent media requires community support to survive and thrive, just like everything else worth preserving in this desert we call home.
What Do You Think?
How is your community addressing food access and economic justice? What barriers do you see that require effective community organizing to overcome? Have you witnessed the power of collaborative approaches like the ones Foster describes?
Drop your thoughts below—we'd love to hear about the rainmakers in your corner of the world, and how we can better support each other in building the future we all deserve.
Quotes
"Nothing in that store is really, truly healthy. Nothing really is going to actually improve your quality of life," - Kendall Foster, criticizing convenience store culture on tribal lands
"We keep Kalil Bottling Company in business. That makes me so pissed" - Foster expressing frustration about sugar consumption rates in his community
"Kids going hungry in schools, that keeps me up at night. Seniors who don't have meals and can't get out of their homes. I'm not going to lie, that pisses me off too" - Foster on what motivates his anger into action
"Folks are one paycheck away from disaster" - Foster describing economic precarity facing community members
"From day one to the confidence of day, a week, week 10, they walk out a new person. And it's almost like you've seen this person be rebirthed" - Foster on culinary program transformations
"How do we link our arms together in terms of nonprofit community partners to really kind of alchemy? How can we alchemize this?... How can we really combine those powers like Captain Planet type stuff" - Foster on collaborative organizing
People Mentioned:
Kendall Foster - Community Food Bank of Southern Arizona, Gila River Indian Community member, economic development specialist
"I'm beginning to lean more to saying thank you for compliments. I've been almost too humble too many times"
Lydia Aranda - KVOI host of "Rainmakers" show
Praised for remembering "all those acronyms, all the days of awareness for each day of the month"
Foster's grandmother - Early desegregation pioneer, described as "a rainmaker herself, a trailblazer herself"
Foster's grandfather - "first black engineer here in Tucson"
Betty Villegas - Former Pima County Supervisor who organized COVID-era community collaboration meetings
Governor Katie Hobbs - Spoke at AAED Tribal Symposium
Governor Lewis - Governor of Gila River Indian Community
Lisa Sesma - GM of Casino del Sol Resort, Girl Scouts board member
Larry Stark - Connected to Juneteenth Tucson and SVP FastPitch
Eugene Carter - Associated with Boys to Men and Treasures for Teachers Tucson
Roy Sparks - Intermountain Centers for Human Development
Francisco Moreno - Dr. who discussed mental health resources and NAMI programs
Eileen Klein - Discussed Medicaid and food assistance programs
Kristen Hernandez - Girl Scouts of Southern Arizona (90th anniversary)
Carolyn Gorscht - Compass Affordable Housing, healthy home market programs
Victor Contreras - Foster's colleague focused on "whole family resilience"
Have a scoop or a story you want us to follow up on? Send us a message!
