It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed the tension between the longtime volunteers and the newcomers.
But this felt different, more deliberate.
The man who poured the coffee had connections, and everyone knew it.
His family’s donations to the center granted him a certain immunity, a free pass that others, like the veteran, didn’t have.
I wondered if this incident would be handled quietly, swept under the rug like so many other things.
My supervisor’s words echoed in my mind, a reminder not to stir trouble.
The veteran’s silence weighed on me.
Why didn’t he speak up?
Why didn’t anyone else?
It was like we were all complicit in this unspoken hierarchy.
I found myself questioning my role in it.
Was it enough to just do my job, to keep the center running smoothly?
Or did I have a responsibility to do more, to speak up?
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