There is an important difference between making sure everyone has an opportunity to succeed and making success easier to achieve.
We have become increasingly uncomfortable acknowledging that difference.
In schools, workplaces, sports, institutions, and even parenting, we have spent years examining barriers that may prevent people from succeeding. Much of that examination was necessary. Some rules existed simply because they had always existed. Some expectations measured conformity rather than capability. Some systems unnecessarily excluded talented people because they did not fit a traditional mold.
Removing those barriers is progress.
But somewhere along the way, another idea became tangled up with inclusion: that whenever a standard produces unequal outcomes, the standard itself must be the problem.
That is a dangerous conclusion.
Because sometimes the barrier should be removed.
And sometimes the standard should remain.
A Barrier and a Standard Are Not the Same Thing
Imagine a staircase leading to an important examination.
If someone who uses a wheelchair cannot reach the examination room, the staircase is a barrier. Building a ramp or providing another accessible entrance does not change the examination. It simply gives that person the opportunity to demonstrate whether they possess the required knowledge.
That is inclusion.
But imagine instead that someone reaches the examination room, takes the same test, does not demonstrate the required knowledge, and we respond by lowering the passing score because we do not want that person to be excluded.
That is something very different.
The distinction seems obvious when stated that plainly.
It becomes considerably harder when applied to real life.
If a firefighter must carry a certain amount of weight because rescuing an unconscious person is part of the job, that requirement is not automatically exclusionary simply because some people cannot meet it.
If a nurse must demonstrate competency in administering medication, we should not reduce the competency requirement because someone struggles to pass it.
If an engineer must understand structural calculations before designing a bridge, the public has a legitimate interest in that standard remaining difficult.
And if a student has not mastered the material necessary to advance, moving that student forward may feel compassionate in the moment while creating a much larger problem later.
The central question should not be, “Does this standard exclude someone?”
Almost every meaningful standard excludes someone.
The better question is:
“Is this standard legitimately connected to what we are asking someone to do?”
If it isn’t, eliminate it.
If it is, defend it.
Standards Are Supposed to Be Discriminating
The word discrimination has understandably acquired a negative meaning because of its association with unjust treatment of people.
But standards discriminate in the original sense of the word: they distinguish between things.
A driver’s test distinguishes between someone who has demonstrated the ability to operate a vehicle safely and someone who has not.
A licensing examination distinguishes between someone who has demonstrated a required body of knowledge and someone who has not.
A graduation requirement is supposed to distinguish between someone who has demonstrated certain competencies and someone who has not yet demonstrated them.
That distinction is the entire purpose of the standard.
A standard that everyone automatically meets isn’t much of a standard.
Yet we increasingly treat the failure to meet an expectation as evidence that something must be wrong with the expectation.
Sometimes it is.
Sometimes it isn’t.
Maturity requires us to determine which is which rather than assuming every disparity is proof of unfairness.
Equal Opportunity Does Not Mean Equal Outcomes
This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.
We are different.
People have different talents, abilities, interests, temperaments, circumstances, strengths, weaknesses, and levels of preparation. They also make different choices and put forth different amounts of effort.
That means even within a perfectly fair system—which human beings will probably never construct—outcomes would still vary.
Some people will run faster.
Some will understand mathematics more easily.
Some will communicate better.
Some will possess extraordinary mechanical aptitude.
Some will become remarkable musicians while others can practice for decades and remain average.
Some people will thrive in college. Others will flourish in a skilled trade. Others will become entrepreneurs. Others will be exceptional technicians, teachers, nurses, mechanics, artists, soldiers, engineers, or salespeople.
There is nothing dehumanizing about acknowledging human variation.
In fact, pretending those differences do not exist may be more dehumanizing because it asks us to ignore what makes individuals unique.
Inclusion should mean people have a legitimate opportunity to demonstrate what they can do.
It should not require us to pretend everyone can do everything equally well.
The Compassion Trap
Lowering standards usually begins with good intentions.
Someone is struggling.
Someone feels left behind.
Someone is discouraged.
Someone is failing.
We want to help.
That instinct is deeply human.
The problem comes when compassion becomes indistinguishable from removing consequences.
Instead of asking how we can help someone reach the standard, we begin asking how we can modify the standard so the person can reach it.
Those are radically different approaches.
One communicates:
“This is difficult, but I believe you can become capable of doing it.”
The other communicates:
“Because this is difficult for you, we will make it easier.”
Only one of those messages demonstrates genuine confidence in the person.
We should provide tutoring. Coaching. Mentorship. Accessibility. Better instruction. More effective tools. Different ways of learning. Reasonable accommodations. Additional opportunities to practice.
We should examine whether requirements actually serve a legitimate purpose.
We should tear down arbitrary barriers wherever we find them.
But after we have done all of that, there still has to be a line somewhere.
And sometimes people will fall short of it.
Failure Is Information
We have also developed an unhealthy relationship with failure.
Failure has increasingly become something institutions are expected to prevent rather than something human beings occasionally experience.
But failure contains information.
A failed test tells you something.
A lost competition tells you something.
A rejected application tells you something.
A poor performance review tells you something.
Sometimes the information is that the system was unfair.
Sometimes it is that you were poorly prepared.
Sometimes it is that you need more practice.
Sometimes it is that you chose the wrong path.
And occasionally, the difficult answer is that you simply aren’t very good at that particular thing.
That isn’t cruelty.
It is reality.
I would rather live in a society that helps people discover where their talents actually reside than one that continuously adjusts the definition of success so nobody ever has to confront their limitations.
Because discovering what you aren’t good at can be an important step toward discovering what you are.
Standards Protect More Than Institutions
There is another reason standards matter that gets lost in these conversations.
Standards frequently exist to protect other people.
We don’t maintain medical standards because we want medical school to be exclusive. We maintain them because eventually a patient will be lying on the table.
We don’t establish engineering requirements because we enjoy making engineering difficult. Eventually someone will drive across the bridge.
We don’t want cybersecurity professionals to understand security principles because certifications look impressive on a wall. Eventually somebody’s business, livelihood, privacy, or data will depend upon their judgment.
The further we get from the consequences, the easier it becomes to argue that a standard is unnecessarily harsh.
Reality eventually restores the connection.
A bridge doesn’t care about our intentions.
A cyberattack doesn’t care about our feelings.
A medical emergency doesn’t adjust itself to our preferred definition of competency.
Eventually performance matters.
High Standards Can Be Inclusive
Perhaps we have framed this entire conversation incorrectly.
High standards and inclusion do not have to be enemies.
In fact, the most powerful form of inclusion may be inviting more people to meet meaningful standards rather than changing those standards until they become meaningless.
Find talented people who were previously overlooked.
Give children from disadvantaged backgrounds better educational opportunities.
Make buildings accessible.
Design technology that allows people with disabilities to participate fully.
Challenge hiring practices that confuse pedigree with ability.
Question degree requirements for jobs that don’t actually require degrees.
Allow people to demonstrate competency through different paths.
Recognize that intelligence and talent appear in forms our traditional institutions sometimes fail to recognize.
Those things expand opportunity without requiring us to redefine competence.
That should be the goal.
Broaden the path. Keep the destination meaningful.
The Harder Form of Kindness
There is a version of kindness that makes people comfortable today.
There is another version that prepares them for tomorrow.
Those aren’t always the same thing.
A teacher who refuses to pass a student who has not learned the material may create disappointment today.
A coach who tells an athlete that the performance isn’t good enough may create frustration today.
A manager who tells an employee that the quality of the work must improve may create discomfort today.
A parent who allows a child to experience the consequences of poor preparation may create tears today.
But discomfort is not automatically harm.
Sometimes discomfort is the beginning of growth.
The question should always be whether the standard is meaningful, fair, and connected to the outcome we are trying to achieve.
When it isn’t, change it.
When an unnecessary barrier prevents capable people from demonstrating their ability, remove it.
But when a standard exists because competence actually matters, we should be extraordinarily cautious about weakening it simply because meeting it is difficult.
Because eventually the world demands competence whether our institutions do or not.
We can make the road wider.
We can give people better equipment.
We can provide directions, encouragement, training, and another opportunity to try.
We can remove the obstacles that never needed to be there.
But inclusion should mean giving more people a genuine opportunity to reach the standard.
It should not mean continuously lowering the standard until everyone can step over it.
The first expands opportunity.
The second merely lowers expectations.
And we should care enough about people to know the difference.