The world is sleeping soundly. Or so it must seem to "Antonio," as he leaves his Dorchester home (and a slumbering wife and three children) at 6:30 a.m. every day to take the orange and red MBTA trains to Harvard Square.

Inevitably, the vast majority of us will be peacefully dreaming (about spring break) as Antonio begins his morning janitorial duties as an employee of UNICCO, a private cleaning company sub-contracted by Harvard. In fact, the night owls among us are barely donning pajamas as Antonio, clad in the white and blue freshly starched UNICCO uniform, takes up mop, broom and cleaning solution.

First things first. Antonio tackles the common room of the River House where he works, clearing the Oriental carpet of last night's refuse: the usual mlange of diet cola cans, half-eaten pizza crusts and crumpled credit card solicitations.

With his friendly demeanor, Antonio has evidently become a popular fixture around the House. But because of his tentative English skills, Antonio, a native of Cape Verde, only exchanges a simple "good morning" with the harried students who flutter past him.

At mid-day, Antonio joins "Rosa" and "Joey" [whose names, like "Antonio's", have been changed] for a quick break, enjoying a few laughs over delicacies provided courtesy of Harvard Dining Services.

"I like the food here," says Rosa, a 47-year-old native of El Salvador, resident of Somerville and mother of four.

Soon, students trickle back to the House to nap or to attend sports practices, a cappella rehearsals and Phillips Brooks House Association meetings. After cleaning, sweeping, mopping and incinerating, Antonio finishes shoveling the courtyard as a light snow begins to fall. The returning "children" remind Antonio of his own brood. His daughter (age 13) and two sons (ages 8 and 6) will imminently arrive home from Dorchester public schools and fend for themselves until Antonio returns at 5 p.m.

After eight hours of janitorial work at Harvard, Antonio has only a few hours of respite and family time before he leaves for his night job cleaning an office building in South Boston. Antonio's wife, an employee of a different sub-contracting janitorial company, will return home later in the evening.

UNICCO pays Antonio $9.05 for each hour that he, literally, cleans up after us. And, this week, Antonio's pay is up for public debate with the outpouring of protests, posters and rallies organized by the Living Wage Campaign. Antonio, along with his fellow UNICCO workers who vacuum our hallowed halls, the dining staff who serve the "honorable" first-year law students their supper, joins the cashiers at Loker Commons and the Greenhouse as the collective victims of an unlivable wage.

Antonio shrugs nonchalantly when asked about the 95 cents that he stands to gain if the campaign succeeds. The undergraduate and graduate activists spearheading the Living Wage Campaign are pushing Harvard to require that UNICCO raise the wages of all workers to $10, an amount that has been designated by the city of Cambridge as "the minimum living wage."

"Doesn't matter," says Antonio sheepishly, referring to his sleepless nights, long commutes and lack of family time. Antonio and fellow Harvard workers' apathy contrasts dramatically with the surge of activity that has been mobilized on their behalf.

Don't get me wrong. I applaud both the method and spirit of protest promulgated by the Living Wage Campaign. But the fight against the administration for higher wages for both sub-contracted and regular Harvard employees is really a matter of principle. For once, we have shed our solipsistic crimson-colored sunglasses and moved beyond an issue of personal concern. Rather than frozen yogurt in houses and booze at house formals, we have awakened to the fact that what Harvard really lacks are the virtuous ideals conveyed by its emblem, Veritas. The notions of fairness and equality (among workers wages) as well as an appreciation of blue-collar work are all principles that have been adopted by the campaign.

Yet, even as we uphold these ideas, Antonio and his immediate daily condition are somewhat overlooked. Antonio likes Harvard and is grateful that this job provides relative benefits and fairly comfortable working conditions. When he first arrived in the United States 12 years ago, Antonio labored day and night at the fish piers of South Boston.

"Angie" enjoys the status and the higher wages merited by her "tenure" as a cashier at the Greenhouse. And, after swiping millions of Chick-Fil-As through for ten years, Angie is indignant that soon a mere toddler of the cash-operating hierarchy could bring home equal wages.

Harvardologists will most likely record this week as the "great week of student activism." As we come off of the high, though, we should remember that we are not mere demagogues engaged in purposeless rabble-rousing. The Antonios at Harvard must remain at the focus of any campaign. Furthermore, while advancing Antonio's right to earn 95 cents more, we should not ignore other deeper structural changes that could be made to the system and the socioeconomic reality that currently limits Antonio to two or three hours of sleep a night.

Indeed, Harvard is the second richest non-profit institution in the world. Therefore, not only can it easily afford paying Antonio and its other laborers at least $10 an hour, but the institution (as well as its past and present students) can afford campaigning and advocating for a whole lot more.