A NEW “REGIME” OF LABOR RELATIONS
AT GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY

Anna Yoko Broderick, Micaeli Dym, Tanvi Kamath, Fiona Naughton

1 July 2026

Across the academic year, 2025–26, members of the Georgetown Coalition for Workers’ Rights participated in campaigns with campus workers and undertook sets of informal interviews throughout. In this collection, they present the results of their inquiries with two sets of long-serving non-academic workers: the shuttle drivers for GUTS (Georgetown University Transportation Services) and campus custodial workers. While the former fought back against an outsourcing initiative from management, the latter were summarily brought back in-house, suffering a painful paycut and losing decades of seniority in the process. 

Combined, these inquiries offer a glimpse into what one bus driver called a new “regime” of labor relations at Georgetown. Where DC’s largest private employer previously celebrated its “just employment policy” (hard-won by previous generations of students and workers) and sustained a veneer of “good faith” labor relations, workers are now encountering an increasingly austere and arbitrary boss. Just as importantly, these accounts reveal existing deep layers of solidarity among campus workers and the possibilities of an organized fightback, with thoughtful first-hand reflections on the roles that student-worker solidarity organizations can and cannot play. 

1. “They think you’re not from the university”: After becoming Georgetown employees, one job is not enough for custodial workers 
2. It Takes GUTS to Drive the Bus! Georgetown Bus Drivers’ Fight Against Outsourcing
3. “Ellos piensan que tú no eres de la universidad”: Después de convertirse en empleados de Georgetown, solo un trabajo no es suficiente para los trabajadores custodiales

“They think you’re not from the university”: After becoming Georgetown employees, one job is not enough for custodial workers 

The bulletin board in Georgetown custodial workers’ breakroom, still bearing the name of their previous employer nine months later.

Though among the lowest-paid and least appreciated employees at Georgetown, Carmen, Luis, and Gabriela are members of the custodial team whose work sustains the daily life of the university. Prior to the summer of 2025, the generic “Hoya Hospitality” logo distinguished them as employees of Aramark, the third-party food services and facilities management company also responsible for the dining halls at Georgetown. Now, they have taken a pay cut of four dollars an hour and lost their seniority to wear the Georgetown name on their chests.

“It wasn’t that [Georgetown] gave us options or anything. Aramark just said that the contract had ended and that we were going to move on, and if we wanted, there was the option of applying with Georgetown,” Carmen said. She found out that she needed to apply again for her same position – despite already being an employee working at Georgetown, just technically not employed by the university – when she was in the interview itself. “In other words, we didn’t have a choice there. Either you stay or you go,” her colleague Luis said. Luis lost all of his seniority when the contract with Aramark elapsed. He was forced to reapply as a new employee of Georgetown despite starting to work at the university at the turn of the century.

In two interviews in October and November of 2025, we spoke with Carmen, Luis, and their coworker Gabriela, all of whom work in the custodial department at Georgetown.¹ They clean various buildings on the university campus throughout their working days, but their jobs intersect at Lauinger Library. Carmen, Gabriela, and Luis have been at the university for over fifty years between them. Gabriela has worked for Georgetown for almost ten years, and Carmen and Luis – who both started working at Georgetown over 20 years ago – have seen three transitions in the managing company. Luis remembered the company that preceded Aramark, witnessed the duration of Aramark’s management of custodial contracts on campus, and became a directly hired “new” Georgetown employee this spring when the Aramark contract ended.

By first beginning with a typical day in their life, and then transitioning into the impact of the change this summer, this inquiry reveals deeper symptoms of a system and a school that is not working for the people who work for it.

“Before, I was happier coming to work”

In a typical day, all three start with a reminder of the high cost of parking at Georgetown: $165 per month, even for university employees. While Gabriela mostly takes the bus to get to campus, Carmen takes the metro, and Luis drives. “I get up at 4:30am from Monday to Friday,” Luis said, for his shift that starts at 6am. Gabriela works in the afternoon and evening, around when Luis ends, from 2–10:30pm. The shifts are typically four hours long, then a break, then another four hours. Lateness is penalized. “We have to come on time to clock in, because if we clock in late they deduct money from us. If we come five minutes late they take away $15, so we have to be there,” Carmen told us.

The amount and nature of their work can change significantly depending on the number of students on campus and in particular buildings, but it typically involves emptying the trash, cleaning the bathrooms, and mopping the floors, among other responsibilities. “Sometimes [daily tasks] are really heavy, because there are a lot of students, and you’re constantly taking out the trash, checking if there’s toilet paper in the bathrooms.” Gabriela shared. Gabriela identified a tangible connection between her labor and the possibility of academic work and knowledge production, noting that she and her coworkers “try to do the best job we can.” “We try to do the best we can to make sure you all are comfortable, that you can study well, and that everything is clean, which is the most important. For example, having clean bathrooms, making sure there is always toilet paper.”

Since our initial interview, Gabriela no longer works at Lauinger after being reassigned to a different building on campus without prior warning from her supervisor. She works there completely alone: “I work there, and it’s just me. I mop, I empty, I take out the trash. There’s no one else there,” she said. All three workers each identified that it was not necessarily the type of work, but the quantity of work and buildings to clean that can feel unmanageable. “They give me a lot of work because I cover three buildings in one day … It’s a lot of work, but I don’t know how to say it. I had to do it,” Gabriela explained.  

After the pay cut in July, Luis and nearly every custodial team member have been forced to take a second job – if they did not already have one. “I had to get another job because I can’t keep this one,” Luis shared. “I can’t support my family.” On the weekends, Luis is not able to rest, waking up even earlier than he typically does to work at Georgetown. “During the weekend,” Luis said, “I get up at 4 because I started a job at the airport. So I work 16 hours on Saturday and 16 on Sunday. It’s a total of 32 hours over the weekend.” 

This change has had cascading consequences for Luis, Gabriela, and Carmen, disrupting their traditional schedules, affecting their sleep, and increasing their stress levels. “Before, we used to rest more because we had better pay, so we’d go out with the family, mostly to the stores. Now we can’t go out because the paycheck doesn’t come through at all,” Luis shared. Likewise, Luis’ ability to spend time with his kids has also significantly decreased. “My children have really felt the change because I used to wake up with them on weekends and they were with me both days, but now they don’t see me until late at night, sometimes waiting until 11pm when I get off work,” Luis said. “It has affected us quite a lot, a great deal,” he confessed. 

Gabriela identified a material increase in the quantity of work she must do since becoming a direct employee of Georgetown, as well as an increasing feeling of alienation from her coworkers since she was re-assigned from the library. “It’s affected me because now I feel like I have more work, and I get home more tired. Yes, and besides that, I don’t see my colleagues anymore.” “Before, I was happier coming to work,” she continued. “I’d look forward to being with my friend, my coworker, in the library … but now, it’s not the same.”

“I was like a new person starting again and I had already been here for more than 20 years”

For Gabriela, this feeling – of things not being the same – is one she cannot escape, specifically because of her decreased take-home salary. “Now I can’t be careless. I have to be careful about how I spend my money, whether I’ll need it later, whether I’ll have enough for rent, or things like that, whether I’ll have enough for my son’s expenses, food,” she shared. The financial implications of the transition from Aramark to Georgetown have been the most acute. “They’re paying much less. I mean, we’re earning almost $350 less than we used to, which is really bad. We were used to earning well, and from how much we used to earn – $21 – now we’re earning $17,” Carmen said. “In other words, it’s a big change.” Said Gabriela, “We can’t survive in this country.” 

Across the board, Carmen, Luis, and Gabriela all said that the pay cut has upended their lives. “I like my job, I like sharing with all the students, and well, the work we do is also fun because I clean and greet people and everything. But yes, right now, what we’d like to change is the pay,” Carmen said. Luis shared a similar perspective: “Before … I didn’t work weekends. I enjoyed the weekends more with the family, and [Carmen] did too, because the pay was much better, so we had more time. We didn’t worry too much about the pay. But now she has to pay her rent, too, and her paycheck isn’t enough; it’s tiny,” Luis said. “The work remains the same because you always have to do the same things that were done before, but with different pay,” Carmen explained.  

All three expressed frustration not only with the pay cut, but also with the manner in which Georgetown went about the change of bringing them on as direct employees. According to Gabriela, the university “didn’t help us at all” with the transition this summer. Luis reiterated this lack of support saying that “we were practically left without any help.” Gabriela told us that she found out that she needed to re-apply to her same position when she was in a meeting with management this summer, which she found out in the meeting was her interview to be re-hired. “It was a matter of applying with Georgetown as new employees and losing everything; that is, we lost everything for being new employees,” she said. In Gabriela’s case, she has given almost 10 years of her life to the university. What does it mean for those years to be ostensibly erased and to not be recognized for that commitment? And what does it do to a person to not receive any advance notice of this change, but for this complete stripping down of position, benefits, and pay to be sprung upon someone in their interview for a position they already hold? 

Gabriela spoke about Luis and Carmen, who both had been working at Georgetown for over 20 years but lost everything in the transition. Even in her own situation, having worked at the university for nearly 10 years, she had to start from square one and lost three weeks of paid time off (PTO) that she had accumulated. “I don’t know if we’ll get back the benefits, the vacations we used to have, or things like that. But I do know that the people who work at Georgetown started with low salaries, and it’s been very difficult for them to increase their pay,” she noted, speaking about the “starting salary” that she, Luis, and Carmen had all been forced to accept this summer. “I was like a new person starting again and I had already been here for more than 20 years,” Luis said. Carmen said the exact same thing about Luis: “He’s been here for 20 years, but he’s treated kind of as he’s like new.” Gabriela put it this way: “They think you’re not from the university.” ²

After those three months elapsed, the custodial staff was told by management that they had to wait for a full year to have access to the benefits, PTO, and overtime that they had guaranteed under Aramark, without any sort of justification for the decision. “They say no, you have to wait a year,” Gabriela said. Other things were also stolen from custodial employees in the transition, including loss of accrued paid time off and vacation days. While Georgetown tried to justify their pay cuts by saying that the custodial staff was getting better healthcare and retirement benefits as directly-hired university employees, Luis said that before the transition this summer, the benefits were largely the same, but the pay was much higher: “we had almost the same benefits because we had all the holidays, vacations, and funeral days.”

“The university doesn’t exactly have money”

Luis mentioned that one of the ways that Georgetown justifies the reduced salary for custodial workers that they brought in-house this summer is by claiming that the university is experiencing financial difficulties, and must cut costs by any means necessary. “The minimum wage is…$18, and they’re paying 3 cents less here at Georgetown and the university doesn’t exactly have money. It does, but they’re always like this – they say they never have any,” Luis said. 

Luis broke down some of his monthly expenses, and the money taken out of his salary. “The health insurance costs you, then the parking, the health insurance, the dental insurance, the vision insurance. If you get sick, then depending on the package you take, they deduct more. So it’s no use if you’re earning $17 and you get a check for [$891]. If you have to pay, apart from that there’s the union fee, too, which isn’t free. So the check shows $700 for me,” he said. Surviving on a take-home salary of $700 each month – supporting a family with three kids – is impossible. “I need to pay my bills and buy food. How am I going to manage with a check that’s only $891?” he asked. 

For Carmen, her monthly salary is only marginally larger without having to pay for parking. “It comes to $890,” she said. “It’s not a large amount either, because many things are paid for, because it’s based on the benefit of the tax contribution, something that is supposedly optional. It’s not optional because they take $43 from you, because they take 3% – that’s for retirement when you retire.” Like Luis, Carmen observed that the actual amount of money in her pocket has vastly diminished since this summer, despite Georgetown’s justifications – not to mention the fact that hard-earned benefits like PTO and vacation time were also taken in the transition.

This summer, Gabriela said that their perception of upper management and the university administration has shifted. “We actually started to realize that the people, the administrators, the managers are something we don’t like. Because they … look out for their own people and don’t share with other people, because it’s not their business. That’s how they think,” she explained. More than ever before, it seems like the management transition this summer was a moment of realization for the custodial workers that lifted the veil of benevolence from Georgetown. “When we were applying for Georgetown, we thought that Georgetown had better benefits than we had. But being with them now, I feel that they didn’t paint the reality,” Gabriela shared. “Because apart from them paying us little, this kills us at work.”

A note from management in the custodial break room, stating: “Make sure to get plenty of rest. You are a human not a machine.”

“The greatest trust is in the colleague you work with”

Despite the inherent difficulty of their jobs, and despite the suffering induced by the transition in-house, the custodial staff have found their own ways of fighting this change.³ First and foremost, they have a deep and unwavering trust in one another. Through three different direct employers, Carmen and Luis have developed an unspoken understanding and knowledge of one another, a relationship only possible through the gradual wearing away of the years. “Between me and her, because we are working together. So we’re together every day, and we both already know what we both like,” Luis shared. Though he clocks in a bit earlier than Carmen, they overlap for several hours throughout the day. “We get along very well. I mean, we talk, we smile and all, but, like, it starts with the coworker you work with, that’s where you laugh.”

For Gabriela, the relationships she built while working at Lauinger were undercut when her supervisor reassigned her to clean different buildings on campus. “They move me around, and it’s affected me because I got along well with Luis and Carmen, and now I almost never see them,” Gabriela noted. She continued: “Before, I was happier coming to work. I’d look forward to being with my friend, my coworker, in the library … But now, it’s not the same.” Without any consultation, Gabriela was moved from the library, where she had worked for a little over two years. Now, she feels separated from the coworkers who had got her through the transition they experienced last spring. “When I’m near my coworker, I always stop by to visit her, because you build an appreciation for the other person. But, well, I know I probably shouldn’t, because they might reprimand me for leaving my workplace.” 

However, Gabriela felt distanced or removed from the Georgetown community long before the transition from Aramark last summer. She described a pervasive sense of alienation from her labor. “I feel kind of alone – like really alone – because I just do my job. That’s all. I come here, do my work, and leave. I don’t really have relationships with anyone. It’s just about getting the job done,” she described. When we asked if this was a recent development, perhaps due to the insourcing decision last July, Gabriela said no, that wasn’t the case. “My coworkers who’ve been here for years at Georgetown, they’ll tell you this has been happening for a long time. I was talking to someone recently, and they were saying the same thing – that management here has always been this way, focusing on squeezing as much work as possible out of employees. It’s just that people didn’t talk about it before.” 

As the university attempts to silo each worker through alienating job changes and unmanageable workloads, the custodial staff has turned to one another to find strength and solace. Even as Carmen, Luis, and Gabriela described how their lives have changed since last July, they frequently measured the impact of the change in how their colleagues’ lives have been disrupted, not their own. In the act of testifying to this change, they decided not to focus on their hardship, but on the suffering of their coworkers. Therefore, any relationship that they sustain with one another is a testament to the fact that the tools of management to break workers apart have not worked, and that people resist through their own reality: sharing breaks, sharing time, sharing stories with those they work alongside. 

A sign in the custodial breakroom marking two days since the last time someone suffered some form of accident while at work.

“I wish that the people who are supposed to pay me would also recognize the work that I do”

In the time that has elapsed since the initial interviews with Carmen, Luis, and Gabriela, the custodial staff previously outsourced with Aramark have begun meeting weekly. These meetings bring together custodial workers from across Georgetown, including not only those who clean Lauinger, but all of the residential, academic, and administrative buildings on campus. In these spaces, workers have discussed common struggles – including the fact that not just Luis, but nearly every person has had to take a second job since the pay cuts this summer – and begun to articulate what needs to change in their employment at Georgetown. 

These weekly meetings are held in the break room designated for the custodial staff, located in the bowels of the Leavey Center Garage, where mildew stains run down the walls and a deteriorating paper “ARAMARK FACILITIES” sign hangs limply on a bulletin board. And yet, in this dilapidated space lacking enough chairs for all those in attendance, workers have the opportunity to commiserate about supervisors who only exist over text, about hundreds of dollars in biweekly health insurance charges, and, more explicitly, what action they can take together to fight.

On February 23, 2026, custodial workers, alongside Georgetown students, delivered a letter to the Facilities Management Office. In that letter, they demanded “an increased hourly wage, a return to seniority, double holiday pay, reasonable labor expectations, language access, and that the safety and dignity of workers be actively prioritized and upheld.”⁴ Just as custodial staff relied upon their personal relationships with each other to endure the pay cuts last summer, they are now leveraging those relationships to build community with other facilities employees and forge solidarities with Georgetown students.

Custodial workers and students delivering the letter to the Facilities Management Office.

Despite everything, Carmen, Luis, and Gabriela underscored their deep commitment to the community members at Georgetown, even when Georgetown as an institution has abandoned them completely. “It feels like it’s my second home,” Gabriela expressed. “So I clean it as if it were my own house. I try to leave it as clean as I can. And well, I wish that the people who are supposed to pay me would also recognize the work that I do.” 

The reason that Lauinger Library can be open 24 hours, 7 days a week, the reason that students can congregate in the Leavey Center and leave all of their wrappers behind, the reason that foreign diplomats can give grandiose speeches in spotless ICC auditoriums, is because of the unrecognized sacrifices of people like Luis, Carmen, and Gabriela. They forgo time with their own young children so that those enrolled in an expensive early learning center can play safely. They wake up at 4am to ensure that students in dorms can sleep in, on weekdays and on weekends. They survive on $891 each month as the pockets of Georgetown investors fill with millions. 

All that they asked in return was for their labor to be sufficiently recognized, for their 25 years of service to the university to be acknowledged, and for their two days after a long week to rest or spend with their families or do whatever the hell they want. Georgetown University broke the promise of just employment made to its workers, and so Luis, Carmen, and Gabriela, alongside their custodial and facilities coworkers, must trust in their relationships with one another.⁵ “The greatest trust,” Carmen declared, “is in the colleague you work with.” 

Atop the lockers of the custodial workers rests an accumulation of personal protective equipment, mostly hygienic masks. The people who toil day in and day out to ensure the cleanliness of the university are not afforded the same luxury in the place where they start and end every working day.

When coupled with the fact that many Georgetown custodial workers wore these face masks as they risked their lives during the COVID-19 pandemic to sanitize campus buildings as “essential workers,” or looped the elastic straps behind their ears to seek protection from hazardous chemicals in science labs they were never trained to clean, this aggregation of waste reflects the brutal reality of Gabriela’s statement: “this kills us at work.”

It Takes GUTS to Drive the Bus! Georgetown Bus Drivers’ Fight Against Outsourcing

Worker Appreciation Card by Lindsay Khalluf

In 1974, Georgetown introduced its own shuttle service to transport students and workers to the rest of the city from its isolated hilltop, built without metro access in order to keep working-class Washingtonians out of its “pristine” neighborhoods. GUTS – the Georgetown University Transportation Society – was built as more than a “company or system, to afford a feeling of community and connote a cooperative University organization.”⁶ This service was initially operated by students, but as it grew in popularity and reach, it was integrated into Georgetown’s Office of Transportation Management, under the Facilities department. New full-time employees were hired to drive the buses and manage the routes and operations of the service. These workers, too, were integrated into the Facilities department and became members of the first union on Georgetown’s campus: 1199 SEIU. 

Every day, GUTS is responsible for getting students, professors, staff, and hospital workers alike to campus. Across the years, GUTS has become a symbol of Georgetown’s values and renown paraded to the rest of DC, with its buses brandishing the names of such members of the Society of Jesus as Xavier, Canisius, and Murray. 

While publicly celebrating 50 years of GUTS in 2024, the Georgetown administration began talks with Abe’s Transportation, a private provider that has been supplementing the shuttle services to and from Georgetown Hospital for years, to subcontract the entirety of the GUTS fleet and drivers. Under this proposal, the GUTS bus drivers would no longer be employees of Georgetown but of Abe’s Transportation, a corporation with hazy safety and worker protection mechanisms. Workers were not informed of this decision until over a year later, when they received notification over email. The University claimed that workers would keep “comparable compensation and benefits” but gave no details or timeline on the life-altering change.⁷  Georgetown did not consult workers on how the shift to Abe’s would impact their overall relationship with the Georgetown community and their life on the clock.

Students learned of this decision to hollow out the beloved GUTS service while riding on the bus over the summer. This sparked a joint campaign between students in the Coalition for Workers’ Rights and workers to pressure the university to reverse this decision, culminating in a sit-in in the President’s office with the following message:

We demand a written commitment from David Green’s office that the University maintains the current positions of all GUTS drivers as directly employed drivers of the University, terminates the current outsourcing proposal with Abe’s Transportation, and fill all subsequent department vacancies with directly hired unionized employees in perpetuity.

This was the first campaign of its kind – at least in recent memory – since the pandemic severed relationships between students and campus workers.  The campaign stressed the importance of the GUTS outsourcing as a symptom in the University’s larger trend of corporatization, encouraging other employees to see their experiences of work reflected in the struggle of the GUTS drivers. 

This report is based on two sets of interviews with GUTS drivers. The first set was recorded in the midst of the campaign, in November 2025. Roughly one month later, on the eve of the winter holidays, Georgetown sent the drivers a letter confirming that they will be maintained as direct Georgetown employees. The second set was recorded after this victory in February 2026, providing a moment for reflection on the campaign as a whole and assessment on what the future holds as Georgetown shifts strategy to eliminate the GUTS department. These reflections offer insight into pervasive feelings of instability that come from the University’s feigned budget austerity measures. Through their continuous struggle, workers across campus have seen their recent experiences of exploitation, underappreciation, and isolation on Georgetown’s campus reflected in the plight of the GUTS bus drivers.

Part 1: November 2025

“Us as bus drivers, we do everything”

Mike, who has been working as a GUTS driver for seven years, explained, “We help just about whatever they need us to do, which is just about everything. Except for maybe change a tire… We direct traffic. Graduations for you guys, we do that…move in, when you guys are moving in, we’re doing that and helping to move in right, make sure you guys go the right way, all that type of stuff. We do it, man. Us as bus drivers, we do everything.” On top of taking on ever-changing roles, the most senior members of the GUTS team make the schedules and ensure the smooth operation of the service. Nigussie, who has worked at Georgetown for 30 years in different positions, is one of these “lead bus drivers.” “The way I see my job is we manage it,” Nigussie said. “Like whoever above me is just giving direction, but make sure we control everything. Make sure the operations goes smooth. If anything goes wrong, only thing I just report to my supervisor, but I just, me and my partner [Robinson], we solve the problem. Like he said, we do everything, like traffic, graduation time.…So Georgetown is my life.” The University relies on its drivers to ensure the University’s workforce and student body has seamless transportation to and from campus. Al, who has worked for GUTS for 18 years, echoed this sentiment: “You guys would never be at a bus unless [the lead drivers] make it happen.” 

In recent years, especially, the administration has used the bus drivers’ feelings of responsibility and duty to the campus, their feelings of inclusion, to push the boundaries of their job requirements. Throughout COVID, Nigussie notes, “We were here the whole time. We were here. So, I mean, I had one or two times COVID. Went home, gave it to my wife. But, you know, this was family at Georgetown. We didn’t even stop to work. All students were not here, but we here for the community…[During] snow time, I spent in the Marriott four days…The students were stuck right here. So we served them. So our job was cleaning the road, you know. I was here for four days, 24 hours. That’s crazy…I mean, management, they don’t know this.” Both Nigussie and Al speak to all the work that GUTS drivers do behind the scenes that management does not concern itself with. 

GUTS drivers see themselves as much more than just workers at Georgetown, but as members of this imagined community that the University has created around shared values, history, and language. And this family aspect of Georgetown makes their work all the more meaningful, all the more critical. Mike explains:

Oh, GTown community is family. As bad as this regime is trying to get rid of it, or that part of it. You kids are out here every day, out here every day, 24/7. We here maybe 12 hours out of the day… Seeing y’all laugh, seeing y’all, you know what I’m saying, get twisted drunk on the bus, GUTS bus, laughing and all that. Oh man, it’s nothing like coming to a job that you like. And the community of GTown makes it that way. The family makes it that way. Like when you wake up in the morning, you don’t look for a reason not to go to work. When I come here, when I wake up in the morning, I’m like, I have to go to that joint. I don’t look for a reason not to go. Because of the community, because of the students, because of the faculty, because of the people I work with. We have a great time, but we do our job. We take our job very, very seriously because of the community that relies on us. And we want to make sure they know that we got their back. They ain’t got to worry about nothing. They get on that GUTS bus, they good. They got to chill, relax, do your thing. So the community means, it means everything. It means everything to us. I mean, hands down, as bad as they trying to get rid of it, the Georgetown community and the family atmosphere and all that, they can’t, they can’t stop. As bad as they try. And they’re trying their best stuff.

“They try to piss in our face and tell us it’s raining.”

While the drivers take on personal responsibility to make sure every member of their claimed Georgetown family gets where they’re going safely, management has let their bus fleet fall into disrepair. For years, the drivers have come to management with safety concerns that impede their ability to do their job. As Al explains, they have been met with delays and excuses: “They were supposed to replace the fleet every five years. Then they keep saying, we are going to, we are going to, we are going to.” With a lack of oversight and maintenance, “we drive the buses for two hours. They break down. Then we have to put this bus in the shop. They hardly find parts… because now these buses, according to the companies, is too old.” Now, management is citing these same broken-down buses and steep repair costs as a main justification for outsourcing the whole department: “They couldn’t fix this problem even five years ago? Then I don’t think they would have been doing this, going through this situation right now.”

The degraded machinery makes bus drivers concerned for the wellbeing of their passengers and forces them to take on personal risk:

“[If] a light comes on, we’re not allowed to drive the bus because we’re not carrying cargo racks or trucks. You know what I mean? We’re carrying you guys. So if anything was to happen and we don’t report it, guess what? My license, my life, and everybody who’s with me is in jeopardy. So I don’t think it’s fair for them to keep lying and say, oh no, there’s the bus, it’s still running. But chances are, anything can happen in the world. So that’s something that they should have seen and given us new vehicles so we can do the job that they expect us to do instead of giving us these headaches.” 

The administration has not listened to driver concerns about buses falling into disrepair, and is now citing these exact concerns to justify subcontracting. The drivers joke that they are now experts in buses – using their free time to research alternative buses and working with the one remaining mechanic on staff to come up with band-aid solutions to keep the buses running another day. However, management does not consider the expertise of its workers, and has not consulted them with regard to the inefficiencies of the fleet. The drivers know the industry intimately, many having worked for Abe’s or other transportation companies in the past, and know that subcontracting will not solve the University’s problems. The drivers see through management’s justifications: “They try to piss in our face and tell us it’s raining,” Mike said. “You know what I mean? You know, tell us it’s $60 million to get a new bus.”

As Al explained, with the failing buses, it is increasingly difficult to go to the administration with concerns; if they do, it’s unlikely their concerns will be taken into consideration. In the past, the drivers remembered, upper management would come downstairs directly when there were concerns about the functioning of the service. With the coming of new administration, Mike explains that, “their relationship with employees is not what it used to be…They’re not in tune with the campus. And they’re not in tune, including students, and they’re not in tune with their workers…I’ve seen that go down a lot after a couple of key people left.” When these key people left, they were replaced by figures like COO David Green, who the workers had never even met until he came to announce plans to subcontract out the GUTS fleet. Georgetown hired a new Director of Transportation Services three months ago, who until now, none of the drivers have even met. When he was brought up in conversation, Mike had to remind Nigussie of his name: “Charlie or something like that. And [we] haven’t even met him. If he walked in this room right now, I wouldn’t even know who he is. And this is our boss.” Mike thinks this lack of communication with the workers shows where management’s priorities lie: “They want to grab the money here. Try to do X, Y, Z so they can move on and get more money at the next space that they was at. You know what I mean? They don’t care about wrecking a school and their reputation and things of that nature…It started from the top. And then it works its way down and next thing you know Georgetown isn’t what Georgetown used to be.”

“Not without a fight.”

The recent encroachments by the administration have intensified the need to organize. A small team of just 18 drivers, the GUTS drivers work closely together. Many of them are even related in some way or another – brothers, husband and wife, brothers-in-law. So when they heard that they might lose their jobs and their community at Georgetown, many turned to each other. Nigussie said: “I couldn’t even sleep for two days, and then we’ve been talking every day together. What’s next? What’s next? What are we going to do? Then when they give us a meeting,” he continued, “we made a mistake because we don’t have no experience. When they call us to talk to the meeting, we just went over there. We were talking about our feelings. They were so happy because, ‘Oh, we got them now’…But we’re confused…so everybody was talking about personal feelings. Oh, they say, they’re going to give us $1.00 a raise…They didn’t even answer one question.” Through trial-and-error, the drivers have realized that every interaction with management must be treated like bargaining, and that they must present a united front. Management wanted workers to see themselves as individuals, and to choose the path of a one-dollar raise as an Abe’s driver rather than demanding their status be maintained as Georgetown employees with stable rights and protections. However, workers looked instead to the capacity they’ve built up in each other from years of service, from laughing together at the drunk college students and troubleshooting how to get people to work on time with half the fleet in the shop and one mechanic. 

The drivers see themselves as a unit and have depended on their unity, despite management’s best efforts to refocus them on individual aspirations. And as the struggle progresses, the need to find common cause with other layers of the university has become more and more apparent, as Mike observed:

Without you guys [the student solidarity organizers] and us working together, it would have been happened. It would have been did, whatever they’re trying to do…We just got to keep fighting. Let these guys know it’s not a game. Let this administration know it’s not a game. Y’all just not going to get rid of something that’s 50 years. That’s historic. That’s the cornerstone of Georgetown. Just because you don’t want to deal with it. Not going to let you guys just do it that easy like that. No, not without a fight.

GUTS drivers at the community-organized sit-in at the Georgetown President’s office, December 2025. (Instagram, @gucoalitionforworkers)

Part 2: “You won a battle, but you ain’t won a war” February 2026

After a semester of organizing, on the eve of campus closure for the winter break, the Georgetown administration announced that the GUTS bus drivers would be maintained as Georgetown employees. This afforded an opportunity to pause and reflect on the campaign – its successes, failures, and lessons. As students, we have occupied a unique position during this campaign. From the beginning, our biggest concern was preventing this campaign from becoming a “student campaign,” like previous labor solidarity campaigns. We did not want to become replacements for the union, nor to lead the campaign. However, there was a tendency, at times, for workers to look to the students as a vehicle for action against the administration. We could more easily organize protests against the administration, leveraging the relative protections our tuition-paying status afforded us. However, the more we engaged in public-facing actions, the more the campaign risked becoming centered on us. At its best, our activity demonstrated genuine solidarity with the drivers and boosted their message throughout the community. Our campaign was most meaningful when students and workers planned and engaged in targeted actions together.

Reflecting on the past organizing efforts, Al noted:

[One] thing that I got out of was that if you come together against this administration, things can happen. More unity in numbers, stress in numbers. This administration doesn’t like the students and the workers to be on the same page. They don’t like it. They are against it. They don’t want no parts of it. They want to try to keep everybody divided and separate.

As the campaign progressed, moreover, workers began to motivate one another to show up. Through texts and in-person conversations, there was an increasingly greater turnout at meetings and events. In the face of an increasingly hostile administration, the drivers began to reassert their power in the months leading up to the victory. After months of worker and community demands for transparent communication from their bosses, on November 18, 2025, the drivers received a letter from management urging them to attend a meeting the next day with their new manager, Charlie Grab, whom they had never met. They were given no further information. Their union representative only received notice a few hours prior on the day of the meeting, and was unable to make it to campus on such a short timeline. To their surprise, they arrived at the room to face a University police officer outside the door and upper management, COO David Green and VP of Facilities Management Lisa Belokur, waiting inside.  Green sought to create a facade of cooperation with workers, but the police presence and spontaneous meeting time led them to see right through management’s false promises. Instead of letting this hostile environment rattle them, the workers quickly took control of the meeting, confronting the people unilaterally changing their working conditions. One driver noted that David Green turned beet red, and Lisa Belokur left the room so quickly when the meeting ended that she forgot her phone inside.  

Coming together and realizing their shared perspective empowered workers to make demands about their working conditions. What workers had often felt as isolated instances of exploitation became indicative of the shifting regime of labor relations at Georgetown. In response to management repeatedly ambushing the workers with unilateral changes that would upend their lives, the workers realized the necessity of reclaiming their power and asserting conditions of their own. As Al explains, when management feels “uncomfortable,” it exposes cracks in the facade:

We have to make them feel the pressure at all times. We have to, because we got to make them feel uncomfortable instead of them making us feel uncomfortable. We have to make them feel uncomfortable. And when that happens, when we did that a couple of times, it showed and they didn’t like it at all.

However, as we are learning, so too is the university. They were not prepared for workers to present an organized response, and they showed their hands. With apprehension, Al notes that one of the clearest lessons of the campaign was that admin, too, is using GUTS as a test case for future policies:

They learn their lessons too. They learn that they can’t do this and this and that without doing this and this and that. So they want to make sure they do every single thing that they’re supposed to do…You know what I’m saying to do to make sure that we and the students and, you know, staff can go back and say, oh, now y’all supposed to do, that’s a violation where they messed up last time. So they learned their lesson too.

At the end of the day, Mike notes that it is important to celebrate the successes, but to recognize that true victory will require continuous struggle: “This administration is not going to let it go back to normal because they feel it’s all that they took L. I think I told you they took a L and they don’t like it. You know what I’m saying? So they never going to let it go back to normal.” The past six months have taught the workers that promises and acts of “good faith” cannot be taken at face value. However, in preparing for the struggles ahead, Mike understands that it is important to celebrate the victories, learn from them, and use them as stepping stones:

It just feels though that they think we got a victory, which we did. We got a victory. But [the actions of] this administration shows it’s not over. I mean, you won a battle, but you ain’t won a war. You know what I mean? So what we’re going to do, we’re going to make everything as uncomfortable as possible.

Reflecting on the campaign’s trajectory, the drivers offered sobering reflections about their feelings of instability. Despite their undeniable victory against the administration, Al knows that their job positions are not secure:

I don’t feel stable at all because with this administration, you can’t trust them. They say one thing, as you all know, and it’d be something totally different. You know what I mean? Out of nowhere… I’m just waiting for the next punch to come…You know, that’s what my co-workers don’t see.

The campaign, more than anything, has disillusioned them with the Georgetown administration. Their wariness was more than justified when, having secured their positions in December, they reported for work in January to be told that they would have to clock into work in Maryland at the Abe’s facility. This essentially outsourced their conditions of work even as they remained on the Georgetown payroll. At the same time, they now know what it takes to wage a successful campaign against this regime, and it has consequences:

I think they’re going to try to make sure the other departments try to get what they want, but with us and our department, they’re going to try to do as little as possible. I think that’s what they’re going to try to do, because like I said, they took that L and they’re not going to sit here and give us a significant amount of raise or anything of that nature and stuff like that.

The transportation department is already relatively isolated from the rest of the facilities department, and Mike believes the university is going to widen that divide. For instance, during the blizzards in January, GUTS drivers were not called into emergency work, like they usually are, to help clear the campus. The University refused to offer them these hours with increased pay, as is typical. Meanwhile, other facilities workers were penalized for not showing up to campus on time. Unable to outsource them without trouble, Georgetown appears set on undermining their working conditions by reducing overtime hours and limiting the unit’s overall autonomy with routes and scheduling. 

These smaller acts of retaliation are putting bus drivers on edge, and one possible outcome of waging campaign after campaign against the boss while working full time is burnout, surely a goal of the administration. Some coworkers who dedicated hours to the campaign last semester no longer show up to the same meetings. Not only is it difficult to find times to meet with varying schedules, but it has also been harder to create the same levels of unity that they felt when their jobs were directly on the line. To some, “showing up” feels pointless. Since the first interview, one driver has quit, and many have started looking for other jobs out of necessity. The University understands this and, by isolating its workers, tries to force them to take these individual solutions to collective problems. Management will not be hiring any new GUTS drivers, making this unit the last remaining bus drivers directly employed by Georgetown University. After failing to outsource the whole department, the university seems to be trying to pick them off one by one. Stuck in this purgatory, drivers like Al and Mike want to be as organized as possible to strike harder when the time comes.

Prior to this campaign, most of the GUTS team did not participate in the union. And when they found out about the outsourcing campaign, many were frustrated at the lack of proactive efforts on the part of the union. However, they continued to push and to build across members of their bargaining unit. And as they organized themselves, the union began to stand behind them. After learning of the plan to send them to clock in and out at the Abe’s facility in Maryland, the union stepped in and filed a cease-and-desist order against Georgetown University. This reassured Al and other drivers, who see the contract and union relationship as important stopgaps to prevent exploitation:

It made me feel a lot better, listening to [the union VP] speak and let them know they’re not going there, and we think it’s a retaliation. It made me feel a whole lot better, because that’s what we were all thinking, it is a retaliation for [our organizing]. It made me feel a whole lot better…about the union and stuff like that.

This example of union activity came only subsequent to months of worker self-activity. Frustrations with the union remain, especially as workers from different departments are isolated and prevented from realizing the collective nature of their grievances. Delegates do the essential work of combating this isolation and disconnect between the union and workers. They exemplify the potential of the union when leaders stay on the job. As Mike explains, “They understand what’s going on because they live it. They’re seeing it and they’re feeling it every day.”

At first the demand of the GUTS campaign was simply to protect their jobs. However, despite being maintained as GU employees, the drivers still face threats to their working conditions, continued employment, and benefits. They have thus realized that stability at work is much more than just wearing the Georgetown name. 

“They want to outsource everything,” Mike said. “I think in one of the meetings, the [management] guy said, we got contractors up here that been here for a long time and they like family. And they’re like family too. The key word is like family. Not family.” The actions of the administration have brought sobering apprehension of the true nature of work for a large, profit-hungry institution like Georgetown. While the family he has created here still means the world to him, the administration is trying to wear the drivers down, taking a new strategy of trying to force them out one at a time. One of the only remaining draws is the benefits that the job offers, including tuition remission for children: “If it wasn’t for my kids going to college. I’d be like, man, forget Georgetown.”

However, the effectiveness of coming together and getting involved has brought him optimism: “And seeing that when you come together, [that’s] the biggest change. Because like I said, I never went to a union meeting or none of that type of stuff [before]…” Now, the demands of the campaign involve making sure this can’t happen to anyone else. “But learning my lesson about what’s happened to me, I don’t want to see it happen to other people. You know what I mean? So that’s one of the biggest changes of me going over there. Now we’re getting involved.” This campaign has demonstrated that through workers organizing and getting involved in their union, change can come about through collective action. The union is its workers. 

Speaking with delegates and coworkers, the GUTS drivers began to see their struggle as inextricably tied up in that of all the wage workers on campus, who expressed similar grievances and concerns. They described themselves as “the first domino”: GUTS was the first department to be the target of a new culture of austerity and corner-cutting, which has now spread to other departments like the custodial staff. The formerly outsourced staff members were brought in-house as Georgetown employees last summer. In doing so, they faced a $4 hourly pay cut, forcing several workers to take on second jobs to make ends meet. These simultaneous administrative actions emphasize how the problem is bigger than just outsourcing or insourcing; it’s about the administration grasping as much control as it can. For Mike, this only means that the struggle must go on:

So it’s just, it’s, I just keep fighting. We just keep fighting, fighting, fighting until this administration just leave us alone. You know what I’m saying? Until they finally give up saying, man, let’s just leave transportation alone. Let’s go try to pick on somebody else. You know what I mean? And that’s when we all, that’s when we all got to come together. It’s like, no, you’re not going to pick on nobody on this campus.

“Ellos piensan que tú no eres de la universidad”: Después de convertirse en empleados de Georgetown, solo un trabajo no es suficiente para los trabajadores custodiales

Traducido por Colby Luiz y Sophia Sharma

El tablón de anuncios en la sala de descanso de los trabajadores custodios de Georgetown, que todavía lleva el nombre de su empleador anterior nueve meses después.

Aunque entre los empleados menos pagados y apreciados de Georgetown, Carmen, Luis y Gabriela son miembros del equipo de custodia cuyo trabajo sostiene la vida cotidiana de la universidad. Antes del verano de 2025, el logotipo genérico de “Hoya Hospitality” los distinguió como empleados de Aramark, la empresa de gestión de instalaciones y servicios de alimentación de terceros también responsable de los comedores de Georgetown. Hoy en día, han aceptado una reducción salarial de cuatro dólares por hora y han perdido su antigüedad para llevar el nombre de Georgetown en el pecho.

“No fue que nos dieron [Georgetown] opciones ni nada, sino que Aramark solo dijo de que había terminado el contrato y que había que nos íbamos a pasar para si queríamos, estaba la opción de aplicar con Georgetown.” Carmen dijo. Descubrió que necesitaba aplicar de nuevo para su mismo puesto – a pesar de que ya era una empleada que trabajaba en Georgetown, justo técnicamente no empleada en la universidad – cuando estaba en la entrevista misma. “O sea, no teníamos opciones ahí. O te quedas o te vas.” dijo su colega Luis. Luis perdió toda su antigüedad cuando transcurrió el contrato con Aramark. Se vio obligado a aplicar como nuevo empleado de Georgetown a pesar de haber empezado a trabajar en la universidad a principios del siglo.

En dos entrevistas el octubre y noviembre de 2025, hablamos con Carmen, Luis y su compañera Gabriela, todos ellos trabajando en el departamento de custodia de Georgetown.⁸ Limpian varios edificios en el campus universitario durante sus días de trabajo, pero sus trabajos se cruzan en la biblioteca Lauinger. Carmen, Gabriela y Luis han estado en la universidad por más de cincuenta años entre ellos. Gabriela ha trabajado para Georgetown durante casi diez años, y Carmen y Luis – quienes comenzaron a trabajar en Georgetown hace más de veinte años – han visto tres transiciones en la empresa gerente. Luis recordó la compañía que precedió a Aramark, fue testigo de la duración de la gestión de Aramark de los contratos de custodia en el campus, y se convirtió en un “nuevo” empleado de Georgetown contratado directamente esta primavera cuando el contrato de Aramark terminó.

Al comenzar con un día típico de su vida, y luego hacer la transición al impacto del cambio este verano, esta investigación revela síntomas más profundos de un sistema y una escuela que no está trabajando para las personas que trabajan para él.

“Antes yo venía más feliz al trabajo”

En un día típico, los tres comienzan con un recordatorio del alto costo del estacionamiento en Georgetown: $165 por mes, incluso para los empleados universitarios. Mientras que Gabriela toma el autobús para llegar al campus, Carmen toma el Metro y Luis conduce. “Yo me levanto de lunes a viernes a las cuatro y media” Luis dijo, por su turno que comienza a las seis de la mañana. Gabriela trabaja por la tarde y por la noche, alrededor de cuando Luis termina, de las dos de la tarde a las diez y media de la noche. Los turnos suelen durar cuatro horas, luego un descanso, luego otras cuatro horas. La tardanza está penalizada. “Luego a venir a tiempo para marcar, porque si marcamos tarde nos descuentan, si venimos cinco minutos tarde nos quitan quince, entonces lo cual no nos conviene pero tenemos que estar,” Carmen nos lo contó.

La cantidad y naturaleza de su trabajo puede cambiar significativamente dependiendo del número de estudiantes en el campus y en edificios particulares, pero generalmente implica vaciar la basura, limpiar los baños y trapear los pisos, entre otras responsabilidades. “A veces [las tareas diarias] son muy pesadas, porque pues hay muchos estudiantes, todo el tiempo anda sacando basura, anda chequeando si hay papel toilet en los baños, si hay papel toalla,” Gabriela compartió. Gabriela identificó una conexión tangible entre su trabajo y la posibilidad de trabajo académico y producción de conocimiento, señalando que ella y sus compañeros “trato de dejar lo mejor que podemos.” “Hacemos lo mejor posible para que ustedes [los estudiantes] estén bien, estudien bien y estén en lo aseado, que es lo más importante, tengan. Por ejemplo los baños limpios, el papel nunca les falte.”

Desde nuestra entrevista inicial, Gabriela ya no trabaja en Lauinger tras ser reasignada a otro edificio del campus sin previo aviso de su supervisor. Trabaja allí completamente sola: “Yo que trabajo ahí, solo yo trabajo. Yo mapeo, vacío, saco la basura. No hay otra persona ahí,” ella compartió. Los tres trabajadores compartieron que no era necesariamente el tipo de trabajo, sino la cantidad de trabajo y los edificios que limpiar lo que podía resultar inmanejable. “Me dan mucho trabajo porque cubro tres edificios en un día … es mucho trabajo, no sé cómo decirlo. Tuve que hacerlo,” explicó Gabriela.  

Tras la reducción salarial en julio, Luis y casi todos los miembros del equipo de custodia se han visto obligados a aceptar un segundo trabajo, si es que no lo tenían ya. “Tuve que conseguir otro trabajo porque no puedo estar con este trabajo” compartió Luis. “No mantengo a mi familia.” Los fines de semana, Luis no puede descansar y se levanta aún más temprano de lo habitual para ir a trabajar en Georgetown. “Durante el fin de semana” Luis dijo, “Me levanto a las cuatro porque comencé un trabajo en el aeropuerto. Entonces trabajo dieciséis horas el sábado y dieciséis el domingo. Es un total de treinta y dos horas el fin de semana.” 

Este cambio ha tenido consecuencias en cascada para Luis, Gabriela y Carmen, alterando sus horarios tradicionales, afectando su sueño y aumentando sus niveles de estrés. “Antes, descansábamos más porque teníamos un pago mejor entonces pues salíamos con la familia más que todo a las tiendas ahora no se puede salir porque el cheque no nos pasa para nada,” compartió Luis. Del mismo modo, la capacidad de Luis para pasar tiempo con sus hijos también ha disminuido significativamente. “Pues mis hijos los han sentido mucho el cambio porque yo amanecía con ellos los fines de semana y ellos estaban conmigo los dos días pero ahora ellos no me ven hasta la hora que es en la noche que a veces me esperan hasta las once de la noche que yo salgo de trabajar,” dijo Luis. “Nos ha afectado mucho,” confesó. 

Gabriela identificó un aumento material en la cantidad de trabajo que debe hacer desde que se convirtió en una empleada directa de Georgetown, así como un creciente sentimiento de alienación de sus compañeros de trabajo desde que fue reasignada de la biblioteca. “Me ha afectado porque ahora siento que tengo más trabajo y pues llego más cansada a mi casa. Sí, y pues aparte de que ya no veo a mis compañeros que regularmente los presentaba antes.”  “Antes yo venía más feliz al trabajo,” ella continuó. “A estar con mi amiga, con mi compañera en la librería … ahora ya no.”

“Estaba como comenzando de nuevo otra vez y yo ya tenía más de veinte años de estar acá”

Para Gabriela, esta sensación — de que las cosas no son iguales — es algo de lo que no puede escapar, precisamente por su salario neto reducido. “Tengo que ver en qué gasto mi dinero, si lo voy a necesitar después, si me va a alcanzar para la renta, si voy a tener para los gastos de mi hijo, la comida, o cosas así,” ella compartió. Las implicaciones financieras de la transición de Aramark a Georgetown han sido las más agudas. “Están pagando mucho menos, o sea, casi ganamos casi $350 menos de lo que ganábamos antes, lo cual si ya estábamos acostumbrados a ganar bien y luego de cuánto ganaba $21 por hora que ganábamos, estamos ganando a $17,” dijo Carmen. “O sea, es un gran cambio,” dijo Gabriela. “No podemos sobrevivir en este país.” 

En general, Carmen, Luis y Gabriela dijeron que la reducción salarial ha trastocado sus vidas. “A mi trabajo me gusta, me gusta compartir con todos los estudiantes y bueno, el trabajo que se hace también me divierte porque limpio y saludo y todo, pero sí, ahorita lo que nos gustaría cambiar es el pago,” dijo Carmen. Luis compartió una perspectiva similar: “Antes … no trabajaba los fines de semana. Disfrutaba más del fin de semana con la familia y [Carmen] también, porque el pago era mucho mejor entonces teníamos más tiempo, no nos preocupábamos demasiado ahora por el pago. Pero ahora ella tiene que pagar su renta también y su cheque no le alcanza chiquitito,” dijo Luis. “El trabajo sigue siendo lo mismo porque siempre hay que hacer lo mismo de que se hacía antes se hace ahora, pero con diferente paga,” explicó Carmen.  

Los tres expresaron frustración no solo con el recorte salarial, sino también con la manera en que Georgetown hizo el cambio de traerlos como empleados directos. Según Gabriela, la universidad “no nos ayudó en nada,” con la transición de este verano. Luis reiteró esta falta de apoyo diciendo que “prácticamente quedábamos sin ninguna ayuda.” Gabriela nos dijo que se enteró de que necesitaba volver a postularse a su mismo puesto cuando estaba en una reunión con la gerencia este verano, que descubrió en la reunión que su entrevista iba a ser recontratada. “Fue aplicar con Georgetown como nuevos y perder todo, o sea, ahí perdimos todo por ser nuevos empleados,”ella dijo. En el caso de Gabriela, ella ha pasado casi diez años de su vida en la universidad. ¿Qué significa que esos años se borren aparentemente y que no se les reconozca ese compromiso? ¿Y qué le hace a una persona no recibir ninguna notificación anticipada de este cambio, sino para que esta completa reducción de posición, beneficios y paga se derive sobre alguien en su entrevista para un puesto que ya ocupan?

Gabriela habló de Luis y Carmen, quienes habían estado trabajando en Georgetown durante más de veinte años, pero perdieron todo en la transición. Incluso en su propia situación, después de haber trabajado en la universidad durante casi diez años, tuvo que empezar desde el primer lugar y perdió tres semanas de tiempo libre remunerado (PTO) que había acumulado. “No sé si nos regresarán los beneficios, las vacaciones que teníamos antes, o cosas así. Pero yo sé que las personas que trabajan en Georgetown han empezado con salarios pocos, y les ha costado mucho ir creciendo salarialmente,” ella notó, hablando sobre el “salario inicial” que ella, Luis y Carmen se habían visto obligados a aceptar este verano. “Estaba como comenzando de nuevo otra vez y yo ya tenía más de veinte años de estar acá,” dijo Luis. Carmen dijo exactamente lo mismo sobre Luis: “Lleva aquí como veinte años, pero le tratan como si fuera nuevo.” Gabriela lo dijo así: “Ellos piensan que tú no eres de la universidad.”⁹ 

Tras esos tres meses, la dirección informó al personal de limpieza que tenían que esperar un año completo para acceder a los beneficios, días de vacaciones y horas extra que habían garantizado bajo Aramark, sin ningún tipo de justificación para la decisión. “Dicen que no, que hay que esperar un año,” dijo Gabriela. También se robaron otras cosas a los empleados de limpieza durante la transición, incluyendo la pérdida de días de vacaciones remunerados acumulados y vacaciones. Mientras Georgetown intentaba justificar sus recortes salariales diciendo que el personal de limpieza recibía mejores sanidad y beneficios de jubilación como empleados universitarios contratados directamente, Luis dijo que antes de la transición de este verano, los beneficios eran en gran medida los mismos, pero el salario era mucho más alto: “teníamos casi los mismos beneficios porque teníamos todos los días festivos, vacaciones y días de funeral.”

“La universidad no tiene dinero exactamente”

Luis mencionó que una de las formas en que Georgetown justifica la reducción salarial para los trabajadores de limpieza que trajeron a la empresa este verano es alegando que la universidad está atravesando dificultades económicas y debe recortar costes por cualquier medio necesario. “el mínimo salario son 18 dólares y ellos están pagando 3 centavos menos acá en Georgetown y la universidad no es que no tenga dinero si tiene, pero siempre son así, dicen que nunca tienen.,” Luis dijo. Luis desglosó algunos de sus gastos mensuales y el dinero que le descontaron de su salario. “El seguro médico te cuesta, luego el aparcamiento, el seguro médico, el seguro dental, el seguro de visión. Si te pones enfermo, dependiendo del paquete que aceptes, te descuentan más. Así que no sirve de nada si ganas 17 dólares y recibes un cheque de [891 dólares]. Si tienes que pagar, aparte de eso también está la cuota sindical, que no es gratis. Así que el cheque muestra 700 dólares para mí,” dijo. Sobrevivir con un salario neto de 700 dólares al mes —manteniendo a una familia con tres hijos— es imposible. “necesito pagar mis utilidades y comida y cómo voy a hacer con un cheque que sale de $891?” preguntó.

Para Carmen, su salario mensual es solo marginalmente mayor sin tener que pagar aparcamiento. “Asciende a $890,” dijo. “Tampoco es una cantidad grande, porque muchas cosas se pagan, ya que se basa en el beneficio de la contribución fiscal, algo que supuestamente es opcional. No es opcional porque te quiten 43 dólares, porque se llevan un 3% – eso es para la jubilación cuando te jubiles.” Al igual que Luis, Carmen observó que la cantidad real de dinero en su bolsillo ha disminuido considerablemente desde este verano, a pesar de las justificaciones de Georgetown, sin mencionar que beneficios ganados con esfuerzo como días de vacaciones y vacaciones también se retiraron durante la transición.

Este verano, Gabriela dijo que su percepción sobre la alta dirección y la administración universitaria ha cambiado. “En realidad empezamos a conocer que la gente, los administradores, los administradores son algo que no nos gusta. Porque ellos… Los administradores buscan sus personas y no comparten con otras personas porque no es su negocio, piensan así.” ella explicó. Más que nunca, parece que la transición directiva de este verano fue un momento de realización para los trabajadores de limpieza que levantó el velo de la benevolencia de Georgetown. “Cuando solicitábamos plaza en Georgetown, pensábamos que Georgetown tenía mejores beneficios que nosotros. Pero estando con ellos ahora, siento que no pintaron la realidad,” compartió Gabriela. “Porque, aparte de que nos pagan poco, esto nos mata en el trabajo.”

Una nota de la dirección en la sala de descanso custodial, que dice: “Asegúrate de descansar lo suficiente. Eres un ser humano, no una máquina.”

“La mayor confianza está en el compañero con el que trabajas”

A pesar de la dificultad inherente a sus trabajos y del sufrimiento provocado por la transición interna, el personal de limpieza ha encontrado sus propias formas de luchar contra este cambio.¹⁰ Ante todo, tienen una confianza profunda e inquebrantable el uno en el otro. A través de tres empleadores directos diferentes, Carmen y Luis han desarrollado una profunda entendimiento y conocimiento el uno del otro, una relación que solo es posible a través del paso gradual de los años. “Entre ella y yo porque estamos juntos trabajando. Entonces estamos a diario y ya sabemos que nos gusta a los dos,” compartió Luis. Aunque empieza un poco antes que Carmen, se solapan durante varias horas a lo largo del día. “Nos llevamos muy bien, es decir, hablamos, sonreímos y todo, pero quiero decir, el principio es con el compañero con el que trabajamos, y ahí es donde nos reímos.”

Para Gabriela, las relaciones que había construido mientras trabajaban en Lauinger se vieron afectadas cuando su supervisora la reasignó para limpiar diferentes edificios del campus. “Me mueven de un lado a otro, y eso me ha afectado porque me llevaba bien con Luis y Carmen, y ahora casi nunca los veo,” notó Gabriela. Continuó: “Antes yo venía feliz, o sea, venía más feliz porque yo sabía de que iba a estar con mi amiga, con mi compañera en la librería… Pero ahora, no es lo mismo.” Sin ninguna consulta, Gabriela fue trasladada de la biblioteca, donde había trabajado algo más de dos años. Ahora, se siente separada de los compañeros que la ayudaron a superar la transición que vivieron la pasada primavera. “Cuando ando cerca de mi compañera, siempre paso a visitarla, porque pues si uno tiene como el aprecio a la otra persona, pero pues yo ya sé que prácticamente no debería porque me pueden llamar la atención.”

Sin embargo, Gabriela se sentía distante o alejada de la comunidad de Georgetown mucho antes de la transición desde Aramark el verano pasado. Describió una sensación generalizada de alienación respecto a su trabajo. “Me siento un poco sola – realmente sola – porque simplemente hago mi trabajo. Eso es todo. Vengo aquí, hago mi trabajo y me voy. Realmente no tengo relaciones con nadie. Se trata simplemente de hacer el trabajo,” ella describió. Cuando preguntamos si esto era un desarrollo reciente, quizá debido a la decisión de internalización del pasado julio, Gabriela dijo que no, que no era así. “Mis compañeros que llevan años aquí en Georgetown te dirán que esto lleva pasando mucho tiempo. Recientemente hablé con alguien y decía lo mismo: que la dirección aquí siempre ha sido así, centrándose en exprimir la mayor cantidad de trabajo posible de los empleados. Es solo que antes la gente no hablaba de ello.”

Mientras la universidad intenta aislar a cada trabajador mediante cambios de trabajo alienantes y cargas de trabajo inmanejables, el personal de limpieza se ha apoyado mutuamente en busca de fuerza y consuelo. Incluso cuando Carmen, Luis y Gabriela describían cómo han cambiado sus vidas desde julio pasado, frecuentemente se medía el impacto del cambio en cómo se han visto alteradas las vidas de sus compañeros, no la suya propia. En el acto de testificar sobre este cambio, decidieron no centrarse en sus dificultades, sino en el sufrimiento de sus compañeros. Por lo tanto, cualquier relación que mantengan es un testimonio de que las herramientas de la dirección para separar a los trabajadores no han funcionado, y que las personas resisten a través de su propia realidad: compartiendo descansos, compartiendo tiempo, compartiendo historias con quienes trabajan junto a ellos.

Una señal en la sala de descanso custodiada que marca dos días desde la última vez que alguien sufrió algún tipo de accidente mientras trabajaba.

“Deseo que también las personas a las que se supone que me deben de pagar a mí reconozcan el trabajo que yo hago”

En el tiempo transcurrido desde las entrevistas iniciales con Carmen, Luis y Gabriela, el personal de limpieza que antes contrataba a Aramark ha empezado a reunirse semanalmente. Estas reuniones reúnen a los trabajadores de limpieza de todo Georgetown, incluyendo no solo a quienes limpian Lauinger, sino también todos los edificios residenciales, académicos y administrativos del campus. En estos espacios, los trabajadores han hablado de luchas comunes —incluyendo el hecho de que no solo Luis, sino casi todas las personas, han tenido que aceptar un segundo empleo desde las rebajas salariales de este verano— y han empezado a articular qué debe cambiar en su empleo en Georgetown.

Estas reuniones semanales se celebran en la sala de descanso designada para el personal de limpieza, situada en las entrañas del garaje de Leavey Center, donde manchas de moho corren por las paredes y un cartel de papel deteriorado que dice “INSTALACIONES ARAMARK” cuelga flojo en un tablón de anuncios. Y, sin embargo, en este espacio deteriorado sin suficientes sillas para todos los asistentes, los trabajadores tienen la oportunidad de lamentarse sobre supervisores que solo existen por mensaje de texto, sobre cientos de dólares en cargos quincenales del seguro médico y, más explícitamente, sobre qué acciones pueden tomar juntos para luchar.

El 23 de febrero de 2026, los trabajadores de custodia, junto con los estudiantes de Georgetown, entregaron una carta a la Oficina de Administración de Instalaciones. En esa carta, exigieron “un aumento del salario por hora, un retorno a la antigüedad, el doble salario de vacaciones, expectativas laborales razonables, acceso al idioma, y que se priorice y respete activamente la seguridad y la dignidad de los trabajadores.”¹¹ Así como el personal de custodia dependía de sus relaciones personales entre sí para soportar los recortes salariales el verano pasado, ahora están aprovechando esas relaciones para construir comunidad con otros empleados de las instalaciones y forjar solidaridades con los estudiantes de Georgetown.

Trabajadores y estudiantes custodios entregan la petición a la Oficina de Gestión de Instalaciones de Georgetown.

A pesar de todo, Carmen, Luis y Gabriela subrayaron su profundo compromiso con los miembros de la comunidad de Georgetown, incluso cuando Georgetown como institución los ha abandonado por completo. “Siento como que ya es como mi segunda casa,” expresó Gabriela. “Entonces yo trato limpio como que fuera mi casa. Trato de dejar lo mejor que puedo. Y pues… Deseo que también las personas a las que se supone que me deben de pagar a mí reconozcan el trabajo que yo hago.”

La razón por la que la Biblioteca Lauinger puede estar abierta las 24 horas, los 7 días de la semana, la razón por la que los estudiantes pueden reunirse en el Centro Leavey y dejar todos sus envoltorios atrás, la razón por la que diplomáticos extranjeros pueden dar discursos grandiosos en auditorios impecables del ICC es por los sacrificios no reconocidos de personas como Luis, Carmen y Gabriela. Renuncian a tiempo con sus propios hijos pequeños para que quienes están matriculados en un caro centro de educación infantil puedan jugar con seguridad. Se levantan a las 4 de la mañana para asegurarse de que los estudiantes de las residencias puedan dormir hasta tarde, entre semana y los fines de semana. Sobreviven con 891 dólares cada mes mientras los bolsillos de los inversores de Georgetown se llenan con millones.

Todo lo que pedían a cambio era que su trabajo fuera suficientemente reconocido, que sus 25 años de servicio a la universidad fueran reconocidos y que sus dos días tras una larga semana pudieran descansar, pasar con sus familias o hacer lo que les diera la gana. La Universidad de Georgetown rompió la promesa de empleo justo hecha a sus trabajadores, por lo que Luis, Carmen y Gabriela, junto con sus compañeros de limpieza y de instalaciones, deben confiar en sus relaciones entre ellos.¹² “La mayor confianza,” declaró María, “está en el compañero con el que uno trabaja.”

Sobre los armarios de los trabajadores custodiales se encuentra una acumulación de equipos de protección personal, principalmente máscaras higiénicas. Las personas que trabajan día tras día para asegurar la limpieza de la universidad no se les concede el mismo lujo en el lugar donde comienzan y terminan cada jornada laboral.

Cuando se combina con el hecho de que muchos trabajadores de la custodia en Georgetown usaban estas máscaras faciales mientras arriesgaban sus vidas durante la pandemia de COVID-19 para desinfectar edificios del campus como “trabajadores esenciales,” o rodaron las correas elásticas detrás de sus orejas para buscar protección contra productos químicos peligrosos en laboratorios científicos que nunca fueron entrenados para limpiar, esta acumulación de desechos refleja la brutal realidad de la declaración de Gabriela: “esto nos mata en el trabajo.”

1. Sophia, a GU student, acted as a translator, allowing this conversation to occur in the languages in which people felt most comfortable conversing. Though their names have been changed, all of their stories and salient details have remained the same. ↩︎
2. Carmen said that some of their coworkers quit in an act of defiance after learning about the reduced salary, going to look for jobs elsewhere. “Some employees had to leave because they refused to accept the payment. Yes, then some left and others of us stayed. But since we didn’t have a choice,” they stayed, she explained. In a similar vein, Luis asked, “How can we quit our jobs if we have no other choice?” ↩︎
3. In the transition of employment from Aramark to Georgetown, the three workers and their custodial colleagues went from being represented by Service Employees International Union (SEIU) Local 32BJ to SEIU 1199. ↩︎
4. Language borrowed from the GU Custodial Team Members’ List of Demands, delivered to the Facilities Management Office on February 23, 2026. ↩︎
5. Georgetown’s Just Employment Policy, enacted in 2005, commits to providing “fair and competitive compensation packages for University employees” in what constitutes a “living or just wage.” According to MIT’s Living Wage Calculator for the District of Columbia, a living wage for a two-parent household with two children is $38.39/hour. Custodial workers’ wages were cut from $21/hr to $17.97/hour last July. ↩︎
6. “Announcement of the GUTS Shuttle Bus Service.”  GUTS: A 50th Anniversary Exhibition, Georgetown Library, August 1974 (digitized 16 Oct 2024). https://library.georgetown.edu/sites/default/files/2024-10/2%20GUTS_1974_announcement%20and%20route%20map-1.png.  ↩︎
7. “A Sustainable Future for the GUTS Bus System.” Transportation, Georgetown University, https://transportation.georgetown.edu/guts/a-sustainable-future-for-the-guts-bus-system/#:~:text=The%20Georgetown%20University%20Transportation%20Shuttle,is%20critical%20to%20our%20community. ↩︎
8. Sophia, una estudiante de GU, actuó como traductora, permitiendo que esta conversación ocurriera en los idiomas en los que la gente se sentía más cómoda conversando. Aunque sus nombres han sido cambiados, todas sus historias y detalles sobresalientes han permanecido iguales. ↩︎
9. Carmen dijo que algunos de sus compañeros dimitieron en un acto de desafío tras enterarse de la reducción salarial, y fueron a buscar trabajo en otro sitio. “Algunos empleados tuvieron que irse porque no aceptaban el pago. Sí, entonces algunos se fueron y otros nos quedamos. No teníamos una opción, nos quedamos,” ella explicó. En una línea similar, Luis preguntó, “¿Cómo vamos a dejar el trabajo si no tenemos ninguna opción?” ↩︎
10. En la transición del empleo de Aramark a Georgetown, los tres trabajadores y sus colegas custodios pasaron de estar representados por el Servicio Internacional de Empleados (SEIU) Local 32BJ a SEIU 1199. ↩︎
11. Idioma tomado de la lista de demandas de los miembros del equipo de custodia de GU, entregada a la Oficina de Gestión de Instalaciones el 23 de febrero de 2026. ↩︎
12. La política de empleo justo de Georgetown, promulgada en 2005, se compromete a proporcionar “paquetes de compensación justos y competitivos para los empleados universitarios” en lo que constituye un “salario digno o justo.” Según la calculadora del salario vital para el Distrito de Columbia del MIT, un salario vital para una familia con dos padres y dos hijos es de 38,39 dólares por hora. Los salarios de los trabajadores custodios se redujeron de $21/hora a aproximadamente $17,95/hora en julio de 2025. ↩︎