Doing It Wrong: Client Frustration Points Up Failed System

New York City

You don't have to be big to be a hero. At 5 feet 2, Claudia Barrow has proven her heroic stature by standing firm for justice. Her story is personal, but it also symbolizes much that is wrong with the welfare system here.

Last Feb. 12 was a very bad day for Barrow. As a city jobs-eligibility specialist, she had to tell a client that no money was due her for several days.

"She didn't want to hear that and started yelling and shouting," says the Local 1549 (DC 37) member. "I called security to remove her from my cubicle."

The next thing she knew, the client's 300-pound boyfriend was beating Barrow on the head with hertrashcan. He had heard the client's outburst and barged past the security guard. "He knocked me down and started hitting me. He kept screaming, 'I'm going to kill somebody. Anybody touch me and I'll kill them.'"

A co-worker called 911, and the police apprehended Barrow's attacker as he tried to escape. But her ordeal was not over.

Good, bad, ugly

Barrow had worked almost 10 years for the city. During that time, public assistance has changed and become frustrating for both clients and staff. "We have fewer workers and the same amount of work," Barrow says.

She sympathizes with the clients. "They are assigned to do work that real employees are doing. But they don't get the same pay: They are not considered employees but people working off their welfare payments."

DC 37 research has found that only a few hundred workfare participants have transitioned into regular city jobs, but they have been used in a way that has cost thousands of AFSCME jobs. Between December 1993 and November 1998, the city's civilian agencies lost about 15,000 slots — most of them at the entry level.

The union estimates that the Work Experience Program (WEP) directly caused the loss of 800 positions in the Parks Department and 1,600 in the Human Resources Department. In addition, hundreds of city residents who have taken and passed the civil service examinations have been denied their chance at good union jobs because WEP participants — sources of cheap labor — are clogging those entry-level positions.

Intense pressure to show that people have jobs — and to reduce the welfare rolls — leads to ongoing cases being closed for any possible excuse. "We have to recertify clients every six months if they're working — twice as often as those not working," she says. "They're called in on Saturdays, and staff volunteer to come in." Paperwork goes uncompleted, and cases get closed.

The clients become angry. "They say, 'I was here. I brought every document that you asked for. Why did you close my file?'" The result is a revolving door, and a conviction on Barrow's part that, "The government is playing games with these people."

Go to jail

After the attack, Barrow's face began to swell. Management ignored the situation until she said she would press charges against her assailant. They tried to talk her out of it, saying, "If you press charges, he will charge you." And that's what happened.

Handcuffed and shackled to a group of female prisoners, Barrow — the victim — went through central police booking and was fingerprinted and strip searched. It took a coordinated effort between Local 1549 and the AFSCME-represented police department clericals to keep her from spending a second night locked up.

Union label

Although the city's Office of Advocacy is supposed to provide support and assistance to victims of workplace violence, no one has ever contacted her. Management didn't even file the incident report she needed for workers compensation until pressured by the union to do so.

Local 1549 members and staff, on the other hand, have been her staunch allies. The day after the attack, they did a thorough investigation.

"I'm glad I was a good employee and had built up so much sick leave and personal leave," says Barrow.

She still awaits her day in court. The union will be there with her. Co-workers who witnessed the assault have written letters of support. The district attorney keeps pressuring her to drop the charges, but Barrow refuses.

"That man could have killed me on my job," she says. "I can't see myself saying, 'Forget it.'"