For many Canadians, a job in the public sector still carries a sense of security, stable hours, fair wages, and the promise of working for the greater good. But increasingly, for those applying, that promise feels more like a mirage.
Across the country, frustration is mounting as job seekers apply to municipal, provincial, and federal positions that demand lengthy and sometimes contradictory qualifications.
Earlier this year, I had a car accident that took me off the road. During that time, I relied on taxis and walked more than usual, giving me unexpected moments to talk with people I might never have met otherwise. Different backgrounds, different goals, but a common thread: applying to the public sector.
It made me reflect on my own experiences. I’ve never been someone who chases name-drops or seeks shortcuts. I’ve always believed that your work and tangible contributions should speak for themselves. I don’t particularly enjoy complaints either. But one fact kept surfacing in every conversation: if someone inside vouches for you, you’re no longer one of many, you’re suddenly “the one.”
It comes at a time when the labour market is already tense. Canada’s unemployment rate hit 7 per cent, leaving an estimated 1.6 million Canadians actively seeking work. The employment rate hovers around 61 per cent, and competition is fierce. In just the first three months of this year, over 830,000 temporary-resident permits were issued, nearly 190,000 of them for work, adding to an already crowded field.
A review of recent public job listings shows a pattern, though specifics can be difficult to discuss openly, as many agencies remain highly sensitive to public scrutiny. Some postings ask for a high school diploma but list expectations ranging from predictive analytics to cross-departmental leadership. Others combine real-time system monitoring, advanced software knowledge, and people management, all under a junior clerk classification.
One listing for a real-time contact centre role, for example, required knowledge of contact centre systems, experience in staffing projections, the ability to analyze service dashboards, and strong communication skills.
The language itself adds another layer of exclusion. Many postings are written in dense, bureaucratic jargon, packed with terms like “multichannel resource alignment” or “service-level variance optimization.” For the average applicant, even understanding what the job entails can feel like a decoding exercise. And once the application is submitted, the outcome is all too familiar: silence.
In conversations across different communities—from Black and Indigenous applicants to newcomers, queer professionals, and white working-class job seekers—the stories echo one another. People talk about applying dozens of times, matching every posted requirement, and still never hearing back. Some wonder if the jobs are already filled internally before they’re posted. Others half-joke that the real qualification isn’t your resume—it’s whether someone inside is willing to vouch for you.
For many, it feels like the true requirement isn’t experience or education. It’s a quiet internal endorsement: “They’re a good fit.” Without that inside reference, some applicants say they feel invisible. “You’re nothing without a link,” one user wrote in a job-seeking forum—an opinion that, while anecdotal, is widely shared.
There are also quieter rumours: certain positions are secured before candidates even arrive in Canada, and a job offer may already be waiting. It’s just a rumour, and no one can confirm it. But it says something about the state of trust in the system. When people can’t make sense of their rejections, they start looking for explanations elsewhere. And often, that means blaming someone else.
If public institutions are serious about equity and inclusion, why not release anonymized hiring data? People want to know who is getting hired, not just by gender or age, but by country of origin, ethnicity, and religion. The kind of data that shows whether inclusion is truly being practiced or just written into policy documents. If it turns out that some people are, in fact, more equal than others, then at least regular applicants can stop hoping. At least they’ll know.
And maybe it’s time for officials to leave their crystal palace and walk a few blocks. Not as spokespeople. Just as people. Because social media posts and equality statements don’t hold much weight when the people reading them feel left out of the process entirely.
Of course, the story might feel more complete if applicants could see who was eventually hired, what made them stand out, and what made them “the one.” But that part stays sealed behind the ever-present shield of privacy. So don’t expect answers.