What RFK Jr. Won’t Tell You About a Healthy Diet

By Bruce Mirken

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. likes to style himself a champion of healthy eating, as seen in his recent rollout of new (and in places wildly unscientific) dietary guidelines. But there are a few things about maintaining a healthy diet that he’ll never tell you, because the Trump administration wants to pretend they don’t exist.

To illustrate, I’ll use an example close at hand: me – not because I’m special, but because although I’m not special, my story illustrates an important point.

I eat what most dieticians would consider a pretty healthy diet, with lots of fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains and legumes. And I don’t eat a lot of ultraprocessed foods, the sort you get at convenience stores and fast-food places that we’re increasingly advised to keep to a minimum. You’ll notice that I didn’t claim to eat no ultraprocessed food, because life without ice cream isn’t worth living, and my ability to resist temptation remains limited. 

But whatever little bit of wisdom I bring to my dietary choices plays a small role compared to factors for which I can take zero credit. Simply put, I am able to make good choices most of the time because I have the luxury of being able to do so.

I live in a place where good, fresh food is readily available. I can afford to buy it, and I have time to cook from scratch. Those are factors that people in RFK Jr.’s social and economic strata take for granted, but they don’t apply to millions of our neighbors – through no fault of their own.

While not wealthy, I’m financially comfortable, something I owe almost entirely to the white, upper-middle-class family I was born into. My parents could afford to send me to a pricey private college without going into debt. Whenever I had a financial emergency, the Bank of Mom and Dad was always open. And when my parents died, they left each of their three kids a significant inheritance. I’ve never had to worry about whether I could afford groceries, and -- except for a brief period in my early 20s – I’ve never had to work so many hours at multiple jobs that I had no choice but to live on Big Macs and Hot Pockets because there was no time to shop or cook.

But just such an existence is the reality for millions of Americans struggling to pay rising rents while working for barely above minimum wage in retail or food service, and then driving for a ride-share or delivery company when their shift ends just to cover basic expenses.

But to tell the full story, I need to dig a bit deeper and acknowledge the role that white privilege played in my family’s affluence. My dad did his undergraduate studies at Cornell and then went on to Harvard Medical School, at a time when the population of Black and brown students at those schools was zero or close to it. While not officially barred from entry, a whole variety of social and legal barriers acted to effectively shut the door to most students of color.

That education paved the way for my dad to become an M.D. and eventually a partner in a southern California medical group, a career that kept the family financially at ease and provided him with a secure, abundant retirement.

I grew up in comfortable, suburban neighborhoods that remained entirely white, even after housing discrimination became officially illegal. I vividly remember going on one house-hunting trip with my parents, at age 13 or so, and hearing the real estate agent who was showing them homes matter-of-factly describe the various tricks and devices he used to make sure Black families never moved into neighborhoods where they weren’t wanted. Out of about 2,000 students at my high school, three or four were Latino and exactly two were Black. 

My family’s homes appreciated greatly, while the Black families who were lucky enough to become homeowners (mostly in redlined neighborhoods) didn’t do nearly as well. That made the inheritance I later received possible. My brothers and I benefited from generational wealth that simply did not exist for most kids of color.

The Trump administration loves to talk about personal responsibility, which manifests as policies like encouraging states to bar use of SNAP benefits for things like soda, pushing the myth that poor people are irresponsible and lazy. It won’t talk about the things that affect our health that have nothing to do with personal choices – that is, the social determinants of health. In its relentless war on so-called “DEI,” Trump and RFK Jr. have cut off money for research designed to understand how poverty, race, immigration status, etc., impact our health.

I’m all in favor of people making good choices. I’m even more in favor of them having a choice in the first place. But right now, the people running U.S. government health policy don’t care.