When the System Says No: Hunger, Hustling, and the Quiet Cost of Exclusion

At the Port Angeles Food Bank, we meet people at all points in their journey—parents picking up groceries for their kids, retirees choosing between medication and meals, young people trying to find their footing. But behind every need is a story. And too often, that story includes barriers most people never see.

In his book In Search of Respect, anthropologist Philippe Bourgois shares the story of Primo, a young man in East Harlem who wants to do things “the right way.” He wants a steady job. He tries. Again and again. But he hits walls: employers judge him for the way he talks, for where he's from, for his clothes. He doesn’t have the formal credentials, and he’s not trained to speak in the polished, deferential tone expected by managers. Even when he shows up early and eager, the answer is no.

So, he turns to the underground economy—not because it’s easy, but because it’s the only place that says yes.

This is not just a story about Primo.

It’s the story of every person who’s been shut out of opportunity and left to survive by any means necessary. It’s the story of someone who may walk through our doors for food, dignity quietly tucked under a coat of pride. It’s the story of someone who’s worked their whole life but still can’t afford groceries in today’s economy.

Food insecurity isn’t just a matter of missing meals. It’s a symptom of something deeper: a system that excludes.

At the food bank, we often meet people who have been told they’re “unemployable” because of how they look, speak, or move through the world. We meet people who have done time, paid their dues, and still find every door closed. We meet people who can’t find jobs that pay enough to cover rent, gas, and food—let alone afford childcare, medical bills, or groceries.

And when those barriers pile up, what choice is left?

We don't believe in judging how people survive. We believe in removing the shame and stigma from asking for help. We believe in working toward a world where food access isn’t a privilege, but a given. Because food banks are not just here to fill gaps—they are here to push for a future where the gaps don’t exist.

When you donate, volunteer, or advocate with us, you’re doing more than feeding someone. You’re standing up against a system that tells people like Primo—and so many of our neighbors—that they’re not worth investing in.

Let’s keep investing anyway.

Let’s keep saying yes.

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