For more in-depth coverage of this story, click here.

For the past nine months, I along with the other stewards have stood before the Highline College Board of Trustees, representing the voices of classified staff—workers who are essential to the daily operations of our campus, but too often invisible when it comes to meaningful recognition or compensation.

I spoke not just on behalf of myself, but for the custodians and public safety officers who open and maintain buildings before sunrise, the office staff who ensure students get the support they need, and the technical workers who keep our systems running. I approached the Board in good faith, believing that if they heard our stories, our needs, our hope for equitable treatment, they would act. That faith has been deeply shaken.

Time after time, we were told “We hear you” or “We’ll see what we can do.” But these words rang hollow when no concrete action followed. Our proposals—based on equity, legal options, and the desperate needs of underpaid staff—were met with silence, delay, or quiet dismissal. We were asking to be treated fairly. That’s it. And yet, our pleas were ignored.

The hardest blow came not just from inaction—but from hearing about large raises being allocated to others in the institution, even while classified staff were left behind. These decisions send a clear message: that the contributions of some are valued more than others.

We were not asking for special treatment. We were asking to be seen. To be heard. To be included in the same principles of equity and fairness this college promotes in its mission and values. It’s especially disheartening when our leadership—some of whom speak openly about values rooted in compassion, justice, or even faith—fail to practice those values when the opportunity arises to stand with those most in need.

Even more troubling is the deference shown to state agencies whose guidance, while influential, is not law. The fear of repercussions from the Office of Financial Management (OFM) has seemingly outweighed the responsibility to advocate for one’s own workforce. Our leadership teaches students how to spot bullying and stand up to it, yet cannot seem to recognize when they themselves are being pressured unjustly—or when their silence enables that pressure to harm those they lead.

What do we do when our words fall on deaf ears? When our engagement is treated like a checkbox rather than a dialogue?

We persist.

I write this not to attack, but to illuminate. There is still time to do what’s right. Classified staff are not going anywhere—we will keep the lights on, the doors open, and the support flowing to students, no matter how we are treated. But make no mistake: our patience is not endless. Our faith is not infinite. And our voices, though ignored by some, will continue to grow louder.

To my fellow classified staff—your work matters. Your voice matters. And while our path forward may feel uncertain, we are strongest when we stand together.