Last year, then-state Sen. Paul Lundeen of Monument recommended me for a state-level Colorado Educator Safety Task Force. As executive director of FASTER Colorado, a 501©(3) that provides training for armed school security teams as a protection against school shootings, I saw it as a natural fit.

I expected the task force would focus on rare but tragic events. Instead, we uncovered a hidden crisis: Educators across Colorado face daily assaults from students. From rural classrooms to urban schools, teachers, counselors and paraprofessionals shared harrowing stories — broken ribs, unanswered calls for help and a system that too often looks the other way.

Our task force, mandated by House Bill 24-1320, aimed to tackle this epidemic. Our goal? Protect the educators who shape our children’s futures.

Our early meetings involved understanding the experiences of the members. Some were shocking. Others were gut-wrenching. One paraprofessional recounted how an elementary school student’s violent outburst left her with broken ribs. She returned to work some days later, still in pain, with no counseling offered.

A teacher talked about a student who assaulted her, and when she radioed for help, she said, “no one ever came.” Those words — “no one ever came” — haunted all of us. Imagine your child’s teacher, alone in a classroom, calling for help that never arrives. How can we expect educators to nurture our children when they feel abandoned in their moment of crisis?

Many other educators shared how assaults left them dreading the classroom. Some considered leaving education. These are the people shaping our children’s future, but they are paying a price most of us have never heard about.

Colorado has mandatory reporting laws. But we learned on the task force that there is a bias against reporting assaults. Some reported that school leadership preferred to solve problems in-house, to keep law enforcement out of the process. Some expressed concern about the “school to prison pipeline.” Some members believed their administration didn’t want the district to be seen as a “bad” school district.

But sweeping problems under the rug isn’t acceptable.

Other task force members reported a lack of support by their schools after an incident of violence. This took the form of school employees sent right back to the classroom. No time to recover from the trauma. No counseling.

Some task force members had child-advocacy backgrounds. They didn’t want the student to be blamed for the violent incidents. Some students are troubled, have mental health issues, or have no family support structures. Other task force members wanted the student to get the help they needed but without upending the tenor of the whole class. Parents should expect their child to have a nondisruptive learning environment.

The task force came up with solutions while trying to reconcile that gap: Getting the student the help they need while protecting the school staff, and creating a good learning environment for the rest of the students. Shouldn’t the rights of the many prevail?

We wondered whether the experience of the task force members was indicative of overall incidents across the state. So, the task force decided to conduct a survey to see if our findings held water over a larger population.

We were stunned. Over 1,100 educators responded from across the state, and from urban, rural and suburban schools. The full survey results are available at https://oss.colorado.gov/educator-safety-task-force-roadmap-for-action; two of the high-level questions are telling:

1. “Have you had a student attempt to cause physical injury to you or another adult in your presence?” A startling 74.49% of respondents said yes.

2. “Have you been physically injured by a student?” 50.1% of respondents said yes.

Of the 1,100 educators who responded, 820 had faced a student’s attempt to harm them or another adult. Over 550 had been physically injured. These aren’t just numbers — they’re teachers, counselors and paraprofessionals who go to work each day fearing for their safety.

We had uncovered something big. The survey results indicated the problem is far larger than is being reported. Would we tolerate this in any other profession? It isn’t a matter of laws, or policies and procedures, which are already in place. This is a matter of a culture that says it’s OK.

And it’s not.

Some might say that the survey attracted an adversely selected group of respondents. Even if the survey drew more responses from those affected by violence, the sheer scale — over 550 educators reporting assaults — demands action. Underreporting, not overreporting, remains the bigger issue.

As someone who trains school staff to face the worst-case scenario of a school shooting, I never imagined I’d hear such widespread stories of everyday violence. It’s a wake-up call: our educators need protection, not just from rare tragedies but from daily assaults.

Violence isn’t — and shouldn’t be — partisan. People on both sides of the aisle agree that the proper role of government is to protect people when their rights are violated. And being assaulted is a violation of rights, regardless of where it occurs.

Off school campus, if a 15-year-old assaulted an adult, they would face legal consequences. That doesn’t change due to the location. Crimes are crimes regardless of the building in which they occur.

So, why are some of these incidents being swept under the rug? It goes back to the culture. At some level, we have determined that the rights of students are more important than the rights of the school staffers.

How do we change the culture? The impact of Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD) offers an interesting case study to look at the impact of culture on a social issue. In 1980, before MADD, nearly 25,000 people were killed in alcohol-related crashes, accounting for 50% of traffic deaths.

Then in May 1980, 13-year-old Cari was killed by a drunken driver — recently released from his fourth drunk-driving arrest. Cari’s mother, Candace, showed Cari’s photo as she worked to strengthen drunken-driving laws, and MADD was born. By 1981, MADD had volunteers all over the country fighting for the rights of drivers and pedestrians over the rights of drunk drivers. The magic of MADD’s work was not just in changing laws, but in igniting a cultural change.

Before MADD, driving back to work after a “three-martini lunch” was seen as a normal practice. Teetotalers were viewed as unusual. Fast-forward to today when it is common to quit drinking, using tools such as AA. Many bars offer free sodas to designated drivers, and people get an Uber for their friend who has had too much to drink. Uber even launched its “decide to ride” campaign to discourage drunk driving.

The result? By 2013, drunken-driving deaths were just 10,076, a 55% drop since MADD’s 1980 founding.

How do we apply the idea of MADD-style cultural change to the problem of assaults by students on educators? By making the decision — as a culture — that violence against educators is always wrong, regardless of who is committing it. And by practicing what we preach in statute. Educators must be protected from violence.

What might accomplish this cultural change? A first step might be a strong bipartisan message to Coloradans that violence against educators is wrong, and that hiding it, or denying it stops today.

How about a joint public service announcement by people respected on each side of the political divide?

Imagine a PSA by Republicans and Democrats alike who had been personally briefed by task force members, and understood what we came to understand over the better part of a year-long process.

Protecting educators isn’t a partisan issue. If we value our children’s education, we must ensure the safety of those who are dedicated to teaching them. If we don’t protect them from violence today, who will be left to teach our children tomorrow?

Laura Carno is an Elbert County resident, member of the Colorado Educator Safety Task Force and the executive director of FASTER Colorado.