Not Broken, Just Blocked: Rethinking the Way We Help
There is a story that repeats itself throughout history. A person is drowning, and another stands at the shore, debating whether they "deserve" a life raft. Maybe they shouldn’t have swum so far. Maybe they should have learned to swim better. Maybe, just maybe, this will teach them a lesson.
This is how we have often treated poverty, homelessness, and need—not as conditions to be addressed but as personal failings to be judged.
And yet, there have always been those who see things differently. Jane Addams was one of them. She didn’t believe in scolding people for being hungry. She believed in feeding them. She didn’t see poverty as proof of laziness. She saw it as a condition created by circumstances—treatable with the right resources.
So why, in our current day, are we still stuck debating whether people "deserve" help?
Survival is a Human Instinct—But So is Helping
Strip everything away—all the systems, all the rules, all the bureaucracy—and what do people really need? Food. Shelter. Safety. Stability.
Survival is the most natural thing in the world. Every species fights for it. Every human instinct drives us toward it. And yet, when we see someone struggling, too often, we hesitate. We intellectualize their suffering. We ask if they’ve done enough to help themselves first.
This isn’t an accident. Much of society is built on the idea that struggle is a sign of weakness, that only the most "deserving" should be lifted up. This thinking dates back centuries, from the workhouses of industrial Britain to the social welfare policies that require people to prove their suffering before receiving aid.
But history teaches us something important: people rarely fail because they lack effort. They fail because they lack access.
Think about it. How often do we praise resilience while ignoring the conditions that made it necessary? We celebrate people who “overcome the odds” while refusing to lower the odds for everyone else.
That’s not just bad policy—it’s bad humanity.
Jane Addams and the Science of Dignity
Jane Addams knew that no one thrives on good intentions alone. She didn’t build Hull House to “save” people. She built it to remove barriers. To open doors. To provide the simple but profound resources that turned survival into stability.
She didn’t ask why people were poor. She asked what systems kept them that way.
She didn’t hand out charity and walk away. She worked to change the structures that made charity necessary.
She didn’t shame people for struggling. She made sure they had the tools to change their own circumstances.
And what happened? People thrived. Not because they were suddenly “fixed,” but because they were finally given a fair shot.
That’s the thing about help. The best kind doesn’t make people dependent. It makes them free.
And yet, over a century later, we are still caught in the same outdated debates. We ask whether people should be given help instead of asking how to make sure they don’t need help in the first place.
What Helping Has Gotten Wrong (and How We Fix It)
History is full of good intentions gone wrong. Systems designed to "help" people often end up controlling them instead. Welfare programs with impossible rules. Housing assistance that takes years to process. Services that require people to prove their worthiness over and over again.
It’s exhausting. It’s humiliating. And worst of all, it doesn’t work.
The problem isn’t that we don’t care. The problem is that we’re often more focused on managing poverty than ending it.
So, let’s ask ourselves:
Are we helping people, or are we making them jump through hoops?
Are we offering real solutions, or just band-aids?
Are we empowering people, or just keeping them under control?
Are we treating poverty like a personal failure, or like a solvable problem?
Because here’s the truth: Poverty is not an identity. It is a situation. And situations can change—if we allow them to.
Rethinking Economic Mobility: A System, Not a Struggle
If someone is hungry, you give them food. If someone is cold, you give them shelter. But what happens after? How do we make sure that help doesn’t end with temporary relief but leads to lasting change?
Jane Addams understood that poverty was a systemic issue, not just a personal struggle. She didn’t stop at providing basic needs; she invested in education, job training, and community support. She saw economic mobility as a process—one that requires sustained investment, not one-time handouts.
If we truly want to help people move forward, we need to:
Fund education and skill-building programs that provide real pathways to financial independence.
Make housing a right, not a privilege, so people can stabilize their lives before they are expected to "get back on their feet."
Remove bureaucratic barriers that make it harder for people to access assistance.
Focus on wages and economic justice, ensuring that work actually lifts people out of poverty instead of trapping them in it.
The goal isn’t to create permanent dependency—it’s to ensure that people have what they need to create a future beyond mere survival.
The Future of Helping: A Call to Action
If Jane Addams were here today, she wouldn’t be impressed with our progress. She would see the red tape, the waiting lists, the judgment baked into our policies. And she would ask the same question she asked over a hundred years ago:
“What do people need, and how do we get it to them?”
So let’s stop arguing about whether people deserve help. Let’s stop punishing those who struggle. Let’s recognize that survival is a right, not a privilege.
And most importantly, let’s remember: Helping isn’t about making ourselves feel good. It’s about making sure that when someone is drowning, we don’t waste time debating. We throw the life raft.
Because when people have what they need, they don’t just survive.
They rise.
Reflection Questions for Helpers
How do my personal beliefs about poverty and need shape the way I offer help?
Am I truly empowering people, or just making them dependent on systems that don’t serve them long-term?
What barriers exist in my field that make it harder for people to access the help they need? How can I work to remove them?
Do I listen to the needs of the people I help, or do I assume I already know the answers?
What small but meaningful changes can I make in my work to ensure that dignity, not charity, is at the center of my approach?
