The COVID-19 pandemic has revealed uncomfortable and distressing truths about American society: namely, the struggle many Americans face just getting by.

Yet, while the pervasive food insecurity that has always existed in the U.S. became more visible, how the problem disproportionately affects people with disabilities has received less attention.

As an ethnographer of food, poverty and welfare, I study how people respond to economic scarcity through caregiving networks. Although caregiving networks like neighborhood mutual aid groups and pop-up food banks quickly emerged to support vulnerable groups during the pandemic, people with disabilities have continued to face additional challenges.

High risk of food insecurity

An estimated 25% of U.S. adults have some form of physical or intellectual disability. Functional disabilities – such as the inability to walk more than a quarter of a mile, climb stairs or lift objects weighing over 10 pounds – are among the most common.

People with disabilities are more likely to experience other chronic health conditions such as anxiety and depression, arthritis and cardiovascular problems. They also have higher rates of unemployment and economic instability. In 2019, the poverty rate for Americans with disabilities was almost 27% – more than double the rate of those without disabilities.

Collectively, these factors put them at greater risk for food insecurity, which the USDA defines as limited or uncertain access to adequate food.

Yet people with disabilities are underrepresented in accounts of pandemic-related poverty and food insecurity. Given their reduced access to food shopping, they are less likely to be included in research on disruptions to the food system. This is prompting demands from health researchers and disability activists for greater attention and solutions.

Shopping with a disability

Even before the pandemic, limited physical access to food shopping and preparation for persons with disabilities led to greater reliance on precooked and heavily processed foods.

In the early stages of the pandemic, many Americans endured long lines and stocked up on groceries to avoid repeat trips to the stores. But these inconveniences – as well as going from store to store in search of scarce goods – can be physically and emotionally grueling for people with limited mobility or stability, or who are easily exhausted. And although many supermarkets created special shopping hours for elderly and disabled customers, getting there at specific times required people to either be able to drive or navigate the scheduling uncertainties of public transportation.

Once inside stores, disabled persons are further disenfranchised by the physical limitations of shopping. Shopping for one to two weeks – as public health officials had recommended – is especially difficult while using a wheelchair or motorized scooter that holds only a small basket of goods. The same is true for pushing a cart or carrying a basket while using a walker or cane.

Customers who are able to drive themselves to shop may also find themselves unable to get their items from the store into their vehicles. Stores that once offered assistance stopped these services in order to protect their employees.

Food donation and delivery programs attempted to meet some of these needs by providing meals and groceries for several days or even weeks at time. Despite these efforts, demand outstripped the availability of both food supplies and volunteers.

For some individuals with disabilities, going to a food bank or community service center was also an important social encounter – an opportunity to visit friends, access news and interact with social workers. Once those programs were shuttered or made contactless, many people were further isolated in their homes. Studies have shown that social isolation among people with disabilities reduces not only access to food but also the motivation to prepare and eat food.

While new digital technologies have allowed customers to outsource their food shopping to gig workers, they require basic infrastructure, equipment and knowledge that may be unaffordable to low-income people with disabilities. Moreover, reliance on others to choose one’s food can cause people to feel a loss of control and autonomy over their food choices.

In many ways, the stories that have been most visible around food insecurity have been those of the people who were in fact able to stand in lines, stock up on groceries and even barter with neighbors for supplies. During a pandemic that has made life much more difficult for billions of people around the world, I believe the experiences of disabled persons have become further marginalized and less visible.

[Insight, in your inbox each day. You can get it with The Conversation’s email newsletter.]

Melissa L. Caldwell, Professor of Anthropology, University of California, Santa Cruz

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

If one thing is clear about remote work, it’s this: Many people prefer it and don’t want their bosses to take it away.

When the pandemic forced office employees into lockdown and cut them off from spending in-person time with their colleagues, they almost immediately realized that they favor remote work over their traditional office routines and norms.

As remote workers of all ages contemplate their futures – and as some offices and schools start to reopen – many Americans are asking hard questions about whether they wish to return to their old lives, and what they’re willing to sacrifice or endure in the years to come.

Even before the pandemic, there were people asking whether office life jibed with their aspirations.

We spent years studying “digital nomads” – workers who had left behind their homes, cities and most of their possessions to embark on what they call “location independent” lives. Our research taught us several important lessons about the conditions that push workers away from offices and major metropolitan areas, pulling them toward new lifestyles.

Legions of people now have the chance to reinvent their relationship to their work in much the same way.

Big-city bait and switch

Most digital nomads started out excited to work in career-track jobs for prestigious employers. Moving to cities like New York and London, they wanted to spend their free time meeting new people, going to museums and trying out new restaurants.

But then came the burnout.

Although these cities certainly host institutions that can inspire creativity and cultivate new relationships, digital nomads rarely had time to take advantage of them. Instead, high cost of living, time constraints and work demands contributed to an oppressive culture of materialism and workaholism.

Pauline, 28, who worked in advertising helping large corporate clients to develop brand identities through music, likened city life for professionals in her peer group to a “hamster wheel.” (The names used in this article are pseudonyms, as required by research protocol.)

“The thing about New York is it’s kind of like the battle of the busiest,” she said. “It’s like, ‘Oh, you’re so busy? No, I’m so busy.’”

Most of the digital nomads we studied had been lured into what urbanist Richard Florida termed “creative class” jobs – positions in design, tech, marketing and entertainment. They assumed this work would prove fulfilling enough to offset what they sacrificed in terms of time spent on social and creative pursuits.

Yet these digital nomads told us that their jobs were far less interesting and creative than they had been led to expect. Worse, their employers continued to demand that they be “all in” for work – and accept the controlling aspects of office life without providing the development, mentorship or meaningful work they felt they had been promised. As they looked to the future, they saw only more of the same.

Ellie, 33, a former business journalist who is now a freelance writer and entrepreneur, told us: “A lot of people don’t have positive role models at work, so then it’s sort of like ‘Why am I climbing the ladder to try and get this job? This doesn’t seem like a good way to spend the next twenty years.’”

By their late 20s to early 30s, digital nomads were actively researching ways to leave their career-track jobs in top-tier global cities.

Looking for a fresh start

Although they left some of the world’s most glamorous cities, the digital nomads we studied were not homesteaders working from the wilderness; they needed access to the conveniences of contemporary life in order to be productive. Looking abroad, they quickly learned that places like Bali in Indonesia, and Chiang Mai in Thailand had the necessary infrastructure to support them at a fraction of the cost of their former lives.

With more and more companies now offering employees the choice to work remotely, there’s no reason to think digital nomads have to travel to southeast Asia – or even leave the United States – to transform their work lives.

During the pandemic, some people have already migrated away from the nation’s most expensive real estate markets to smaller cities and towns to be closer to nature or family. Many of these places still possess vibrant local cultures. As commutes to work disappear from daily life, such moves could leave remote workers with more available income and more free time.

[You’re smart and curious about the world. So are The Conversation’s authors and editors. You can get our highlights each weekend.]

The digital nomads we studied often used savings in time and money to try new things, like exploring side hustles. One recent study even found, somewhat paradoxically, that the sense of empowerment that came from embarking on a side hustle actually improved performance in workers’ primary jobs.

The future of work, while not entirely remote, will undoubtedly offer more remote options to many more workers. Although some business leaders are still reluctant to accept their employees’ desire to leave the office behind, local governments are embracing the trend, with several U.S. cities and states – along with countries around the world – developing plans to attract remote workers.

This migration, whether domestic or international, has the potential to enrich communities and cultivate more satisfying work lives.

Rachael A. Woldoff, Professor of Sociology, West Virginia University and Robert Litchfield, Associate Professor of Business, Washington & Jefferson College

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.