Isaac Bunn, 55, the descendant of Black steelworkers and founder of the Braddock Inclusion Project, a nonprofit focused on alleviating poverty, stands for a portrait by U.S. Steel’s Edgar Thomson Works, Thursday, Dec. 12, 2024, in Braddock. (Photo by Stephanie Strasburg/PublicSource)
When a temporary agency worker sheepishly showed me the error that caused me to be passed over or let go so many times, my world shattered. But I also learned to be resilient.
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As a young Black man living in one of the worst places in America for Black folks, I was climbing the ladder of success, working two well-paying jobs, and steadily advancing in my career. I was living the American dream and thriving.
While my teenage and early adult years were troubled, my journey mostly began with hope and promise. But then an effort to retrieve personal items from an ex turned into a nightmare I could not have anticipated.
In the blink of an eye, my promising career and future were abruptly snatched away from me — not by my own doing or as a result of youthful transgressions, but by a clerical error that turned my life into a never-ending nightmare for a decade before I even discovered its cause.
Defiant trespass (a misdemeanor) and criminal attempt (a felony) were the charges against me, but the felony charge was quashed. Thankful that the impact was not detrimental, I confidently began to move on and put the incident behind me.
I eventually went in search of higher-paying openings at financial institutions, only to find the ladder impossible to climb.
For 10 long years, I continued to check “NO” on job applications which asked whether I had ever been convicted of a felony.
But I’d never get a call back.
I was reduced to depending on temporary agency work and being a guinea pig for research studies just to get by. Even temp work would never last once they received the background check. I endured the silent snickers and the humiliating glances from employment center workers across Pittsburgh, never understanding why — until a temporary agency worker, unable to conceal the injustice any longer, revealed the truth that left me broken.
Her voice trembling with emotion and driven by a sense of moral duty, she finally revealed the reason for my endless torment: a wrongful felony conviction on my record.
She had been employed with the agency for four years at the point. For those four years, the agency knew about the felony record but never told me, content to observe my perceived dishonesty and ignorance, she explained.
There it was, in black and white — a felony conviction on my record of which I’d had no knowledge. The betrayal and injustice were overwhelming and the ground beneath me seemed to vanish. In that moment, my world shattered.
Irreparably damaged
That erroneous felony conviction was the hidden adversary that silently sabotaged my aspirations, the phantom that altered the trajectory of my life. For a decade, I’d lost my ability to hold full-time work, increasingly concerned about why I was not receiving any callbacks and falling behind on my bills, rent and loans, and struggling with daily living expenses. All this while I was separately fighting the county to hold on to my family property.
The financial industry’s high value on trust and integrity meant that the erroneous record of a felony irreparably damaged my professional reputation, making it impossible to rebuild trust with colleagues, clients and employers who felt deceived because I had checked the box for no felony convictions.
The vibrant future I had envisioned had been replaced by a relentless struggle and mental anguish. I’d all but given up on ever working in corporate America, resorting to dangerous illegal activities to meet financial obligations, and falling into deep despair.
Worse yet, I’d become estranged from my only child, who grew up mostly without me, our bond severed by years of family court and forced separation. Other personal relationships, including those with family and friends, had eroded over years of severe, untreated emotional distress, anxiety and depression. My pursuit of a life partner had repeatedly crumbled under the weight of my past and unstable financial future. As the years and seasons came and went, the hope of finding a significant other to share my burdens and joys slowly slipped away.
All because of a clerical error.
An error that you can’t entirely erase
The process of correcting a clerical mistake on a criminal record is lengthy and complex, requiring legal intervention and significant costs. No law firm was willing to file a lawsuit on my behalf, and I found myself in the library educating myself on how to have the criminal record corrected.
Each step was a relentless grind through a bureaucratic maze that seemed designed to test my endurance.
There were countless trips to the courthouse, where I was met with endless queues and impenetrable walls of red tape. Each visit drained a bit more of my hope, as I waited in line only to be met with another setback, another form to fill out, another department to call.
I spent thousands of dollars on consultations with lawyers, copies of court documents and court costs as I tried to clear the error from all of the local, state and federal systems into which it had spread. My days became a blur of holding on the line, navigating automated systems that looped me in circles, and receiving vague promises of resolution that never materialized.
I found myself in the law library for hours, sifting through volumes of legal texts, trying to understand the nuances of a system that seemed intent on keeping me down.
Weeks turned into months, and months stretched into years. The ordeal consumed my life, overshadowing every moment with a sense of helplessness and frustration
Even after clearing my name, the error still appeared on state and federal records, leading to recurring issues whenever a background check was conducted.
Nonetheless, the hardships I endured forged a resilience within me that I never knew I possessed. Today, my life has dramatically changed for the better, even as the physical, mental and emotional damage remains as a constant reminder, requiring ongoing and long-term treatment.
Overcoming the wrongful conviction and the heartache that followed was not just a victory — it was the catalyst for the rebirth of my purpose in life, proving that it is never too late to reclaim your identity.
I eventually found stable employment. I founded The Braddock Inclusion Project, a nonprofit organization seeking to alleviate poverty and other historical and ongoing injustices.
I held on to my family’s land and, through the nonprofit, we are looking to redevelop it into a world-class community center and innovation incubator space.
Through my activism and nonprofit work, I am establishing amazing new relationships and supportive networks. And most importantly, I have since reconnected with my only child, something that I never imagined would happen.
The transformation I have experienced is nothing short of miraculous. But if you do not believe in your own potential, you deny yourself the chance to be truly extraordinary.
As we begin our journey here in 2025, I hope my story will inspire those who feel that their current situation is insurmountable, to have faith in yourself and to never give up. If you do not believe in yourself, how can anyone else?
Also, let it be a cautionary tale and reminder to stay focused, practice due diligence and be aware of what is on criminal records. If it happened to me, it could still be happening to other people, every single day.
It is also extremely important to note that deindustrialization has left an open wound on our left-behind communities that runs deep. The crumbling infrastructure in communities like Braddock is a stark reminder of decades worth of promises unfulfilled.
Neglectful leadership, blind to the cries of the people most in need in our region, has allowed this decay to spread. And while I may have overcome my situation, the lack of opportunities and access continue to produce isolation, hopelessness, generational despair and high-risk environments.
In this void, desperation, addiction, criminality and growing extremist radicalization have taken deep root, as people search for something — anything — to give their lives meaning.
But in the spirit of humanity, by collectively staying engaged and active, we can become the architects of our destiny, paving the way for a brighter, empowered future for all in this region.
We will continue to rise above neglect and administrative oversights, transcending the barriers set by those in power, to fulfill our highest potential and forge our own paths.
Isaac Bunn is an activist and the founder of the Braddock Inclusion Project. To reach him, email firstperson@publicsource.org.
This article first appeared on PublicSource and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
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