Day 4: Remove Barriers
[5-Minute Read, 5-Minute Activity]
When a Barrier Becomes a Mountain
Her name was Antoinette. She was 23.
I was just a couple of years younger. We’d both grown up in the same rural county, only 10 or 20 miles apart. We never would’ve met, except that summer we both found ourselves working temp jobs in a local factory on the night shift.
But beyond that, our worlds were light years apart.
I was getting ready to start my senior year of college. For me, this job meant earning a few bucks to help pay for my books and travel back east. It was just another experience before I moved onto something better.
She was a mom to a toddler. A former addict. She’d spent time in prison, deeply regretted getting mixed up with a bad crowd, was working hard to get back on her feet.
She showed me pictures of her little girl, and of the trailer where she and her daughter both lived. She was so proud to have a home for the two of them.
For her this job was a lifeline. A chance at redemption in the form of minimum wage manual labor. A new start.
Antoinette worked hard, probably harder than I did. She had a determination, something inside her that was pushing her to prove her worth as an employee. Even as a self-absorbed 20-year-old, this did not escape me.
One night Antoinette came to work upset. She told me that the temp agency had called that day, and through the conversation learned that she was a convicted felon - something she’d disclosed on her application, but they hadn’t noticed.
Then they informed her that they couldn’t employ a felon.
Because of her record, Antoinette wasn’t going to be able to keep this tiring, tedious, minimum-wage job, which she had already demonstrated excellent capacity to do, a job she wanted and actually needed. I can’t imagine how Antoinette felt about the circumstances, but I was burning with a sense of unfairness.
Up until that point, I’d assumed the world was pretty fair. I’d assumed that if you wanted a job, you could get a job - because that was the way it had always worked for me. I’d never known anyone who had been incarcerated. I’d never realized that if you made mistakes that landed you in prison, there was a mountain of obstacles waiting for you on the other side.
Antoinette’s story had a happy ending: Our supervisor had seen her hard work, realized the value she had to offer the company, and offered to hire her on directly to the factory. One person in a position of power stepped in and removed a barrier.
For me, meeting Antoinette - seeing a person rather than an issue - was the start of understanding a world that I hadn’t known existed. A world where simple barriers can become mountains, where policies intended to reduce risk can step on those trying to climb their way out, and where a second chance offered can change the story.
We may never realize until we hear the human stories on the other side of systems, the kind of barriers those systems may be unwittingly putting up: The lengthy forms with difficult vocabulary. The hoops to jump through. The documentation required. The need to know the right person. The knowledge of how systems work. The non-family job references.
But until we can see those barriers, maybe by meeting the people who are navigating them, our systems will miss out on individuals who are ready to prove themselves, people like Antoinette who are willing to put in the work but need someone to open a door every now and then.
By Faith Bosland, ACTS/U4K Coordinator
What You Can Do Next:
Download this Friction Matrix for ideas about specific barriers for those in poverty in different spheres and settings, and simple suggestions for “anti-friction” practices. We hope these ideas will help jump-start your creative thinking about what anti-friction could look like in your context.
