Jason McGill promoted himself as a radically anti-racist “love warrior” as head of Northwest Youth Services, the principal nonprofit combating youth homelessness north of Snohomish County.
The charismatic CEO was celebrated by other leaders in Bellingham during his more than three years at the helm of the organization. He was appointed to multiple city commissions, participated in at least one county task force and even joined Washington Gov. Jay Inslee for a bill signing earlier this year.
But behind the scenes, multiple employees allege McGill, now on paid leave, fostered a culture of fear with threats of decisive retaliation within NWYS, often labeling those who disagreed with him and his approach to serving the community as “racist.” Multiracial former employees interviewed by Cascadia Daily News said they, too, could quickly become targets within the organization for voicing concerns.
Employees also allege key positions were filled by people who had friendly ties to McGill, without qualifications and experience to properly handle the duties for those roles.
Elevating concerns to human resources or the nonprofit’s board of directors did not result in corrective actions, but rather termination for any worker who was deemed unloyal or critical, according to multiple former employees interviewed by CDN.
The staffers described a broken, dysfunctional organization that lacked institutional knowledge, fueled professional burnout and struggled to provide some of its core, legacy services despite the dedication of boots-on-the-ground employees.
Established in 1976 to help homeless youth, NWYS set up a shelter in Whatcom County, eventually expanding efforts to include Skagit County. Now it’s a $5 million nonprofit providing everything from housing support to Queer Youth programs for ages 13–24. It boasted in its annual impact report of serving 1,205 clients in 2023 and has received funding from city, county, state and federal sources.
McGill was put on paid leave Sept. 26 by the nonprofit’s six-person board of directors, which cited “concerns” — nine days after he submitted his resignation for family reasons.
[ Read more: On paid leave, Northwest Youth Services CEO launches GoFundMe for help moving home to WV ]
Board president Michelle Harmeier, who declined an interview, confirmed on Sept. 27 that the board had “taken steps to begin an independent investigation” connected to McGill. Board member Lance Jones was named as the interim CEO this week. (Under McGill’s leadership the organization often changed employees’ titles; his changed from executive director to CEO.)
In response, McGill told CDN in a Sept. 25 email that he applauded “the board for making the decision to do a fair investigation of all accusations.”
Harmeier declined to clarify if the board’s decision was based on the allegations of a toxic workplace, chronic understaffing and/or the nonprofit failing to meet some core goals, as described by former employees — or if it was tied to other concerns raised about McGill.
CDN interviewed nine former NWYS employees from various departments whose tenures stretched from 2018 to 2024. Nearly all have been granted anonymity for this story, due to their fears of personal and professional retaliation from McGill and his NWYS “inner circle.” Former employees described the work environment as “fear-based,” “hostile,” “unsafe,” “wrecked,” “understaffed,” “crazy-making” and detrimental to their abilities to support homeless youths.
Though the board is now investigating McGill, it was made aware of employee concerns years ago, according to emails and personal accounts shared with CDN.
CDN has reviewed multiple emails sent to NWYS board members since McGill took the helm, warning members of potential damage being done to the organization and raising issues of staff and youth safety.
“If you talk to the board of Northwest Youth Services, Jason finds out,” one former employee said. “You talk to the president of the board, he (McGill) gets a text message the same day. You get fired the week later.”
None of the board members who were part of onboarding McGill remain with the nonprofit. The board has some oversight on budgeting and hiring and “guides and drives the work of Northwest Youth Services,” according to the website. The board typically met once a month for about 90 minutes and staffers were discouraged from reaching out to the board by McGill, former workers said.
Harmeier, the current president, didn’t join until 2023, while two others who are still on the board have tenures that go back to 2022. CDN reached out to eight current and former board members. All either failed to respond or declined to be interviewed for this story.
“When you have staff members who are constantly feeling under threat, who are constantly being threatened with being fired, being threatened with accusations of racism, it’s really hard to do a trauma-informed job with young people,” said former NWYS employee Lisa Page, noting that McGill’s influence permeated the local provider community.
McGill also declined an in-person or phone interview for this story, but answered questions via email with lengthy responses.
McGill known as outspoken critic, made big changes
McGill oversaw two rebrandings of NWYS after taking the reins of the organization in February 2021, while also launching a food truck and the Omni Center, an art-based service to youth of color. Under his leadership, the location for the PAD (the primary short-term housing unit) moved from its downtown location to the Samish neighborhood, ultimately resulting in fewer beds being made available to youths and a lawsuit from concerned neighbors.
NWYS’s first public message about McGill’s resignation on Sept. 17 lauded the leader’s accomplishments: “Jason didn’t just lead — he restructured the very essence of this organization … Under his guidance, we became a more human-first, healing-centered community, placing the well-being of our young people and staff at the heart of every decision.”
But the sentiment rang hollow to former employees of a nonprofit that experienced a turnover rate of more than 80% under McGill’s leadership, according to the employees.
A high turnover rate and burnout are very common in homelessness services. A national survey of more than 5,000 people working in homeless services in 2023 found that 74% said their organization was understaffed, while 71% reported high employee turnover.
In an email response to CDN, McGill dismissed the turnover at NWYS as “the result of the difficulty of dismantling supremacist culture.”
At NWYS, change came again on Sept. 20, when the Board, in an email to staff only, said McGill’s resignation was immediate, moving up the date from Nov. 4. About a week later, a new public email contradicted what staff were told, stating McGill was on administrative leave.
“Concerns have been brought to the attention of the Board,” Harmeier wrote. “As your Board of Directors, we take any allegations that diverge from our core values of community, justice and liberation, humanity and accountability with the utmost seriousness.” Harmeier has not responded to questions about the board’s decision to change McGill’s status.
As the only Black nonprofit leader in Whatcom County, McGill was initially seen as a beacon of hope, ushering an era of anti-racism into the community in the wake of the 2020 police killing of George Floyd and rise of the Black Lives Matter movement.
This was especially the case for some multiracial former employees who were inspired by McGill. One employee described him as being a “father figure.”
“It’s healing a lot of things, having a Black man believe in me,” the former employee recalled telling McGill.
But also because McGill was one of few people of color in any leadership position in predominantly white, liberal Bellingham, he wielded significant social power in the nonprofit and social services community, with the ability to inflict real harm on those who opposed his approach to youth homelessness, former employees said.
He quickly developed influence in the community, in charge of a nonprofit that reported more than $5,150,000 in revenue in 2022, according to the organization’s tax form.
Employees: A ‘culture of fear’
Former NWYS employee Page accused McGill of creating a culture of fear not only at NWYS but within the whole provider community in Bellingham.
Page, a formally trained trauma-informed pastor and LGBTQ+ youth advocate, primarily worked as the manager of the organization’s Queer Youth Project (later renamed to Queer Youth Services) for four-and-half years. Page also served as an interim program director and emergency housing manager for minors.
“The fear is the destruction of my livelihood, destruction of my reputation, destruction of my sense of belonging within the community,” said Page, who told CDN she decided to allow her name to be used in this story only after much consideration.
It was a sentiment shared by nearly every former employee interviewed regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation. CDN is not identifying some sources by race and/or gender to further protect them from retaliation.
Many workers, including Page, were energized by McGill’s promise of transforming NWYS.
However, they alleged McGill and his inner circle ended up weaponizing social justice language and were quick to dismiss anyone who questioned them as “racist” — a label that threatened to follow the employee beyond the walls of the NWYS.
“When you use that and weaponize that to dodge being held accountable for your own wrongdoings — that’s a problem,” one former employee said. “That was a huge problem in the organization, specifically with this executive director.”
In a written response to CDN, McGill pointed at a long history within the United States of labeling Black leaders as “angry” and noted that the “lack of representation of People of Color in leadership in Whatcom County speaks to the history of exclusionary practices in our county.
“Furthermore, engaging in abolition work, as an organization, presents a multifaceted challenge that requires deep introspection, commitment, and resilience. Not everyone will lean into that approach,” he told CDN. “This doesn’t equate to a culture of fear. It highlights misplaced fragility. It’s an indication that some folks have not invested in their healing journey.”
In one group meeting, a former employee recalled someone close to McGill stating that anyone who didn’t do what McGill wanted or didn’t follow his directives was racist. In another meeting, a close ally of McGill’s called the entire staff at the drop-in service, Ground Floor, racist.
“When you get told by the leaders in your organization that you’re too dangerous, too bad, too racist, too homophobic, whatever it is, to do that work — that’s a personal wound, as well as a professional wound,” said Page, who is white.
Page was one of the first employees to be publicly shamed, ostracized and pushed out of the organization once McGill came into power, according to multiple sources.
When McGill joined NWYS, he shut down the Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion Learning Lab for staff that Page and a co-worker started as part of the organization’s effort to join the anti-racism movement. He also reportedly said that Page was “weaponizing white women’s tears” during a group meeting.
The breaking point for Page, however, was McGill’s reaction to her voicing concerns about his hand-picked Positive Adolescent Development (PAD) manager after Page witnessed the woman “basically picking fights with homeless youth” at the 24-hour center, which provides short-term housing.
After leaving NWYS, Page started her own nonprofit called Common Goodness Project, which provides LGBTQ+ youth technical assistance and training. Yet, she alleges that she still wasn’t able to escape McGill’s influence.
Page said she secured a valuable contract with the state Department of Commerce as a subcontractor for the Racial Equity Action Lab. One of her nonprofit’s trainings was included in an email blast that went to NWYS. Shortly afterward, the Lab canceled the contract. From friends within the state Commerce Department, Page learned that McGill had called the agency in an attempt to get her fired, accusing Page of being racist. CDN was unable to independently confirm the contract cancellation.
Employees outside what was described as McGill’s inner circle not only felt the need to be careful of what was said in front of him, but also to be “extremely careful” about not criticizing him to anyone who might leak their concerns, explained one former employee.
Ultimately, that employee said she left because of the hostile work environment, feelings of being extremely psychologically unsafe, extreme burnout and public humiliation in upper leadership meetings.
Racial identity not a safeguard
Racial identity was not seen as a safeguard against bullying and retaliation within NWYS, according to employees of varying racial backgrounds.
Revel, who is identified by a pseudonym due to fear of retaliation, is a Black woman who grew up as an at-risk youth. She was among a handful of employees hired at NWYS once McGill came on board. Deeply passionate about her work with youth, Revel quickly proved herself at the organization as a thorough and engaged case manager, according to a character witness letter she provided to CDN.
Revel said her fallout with the nonprofit started when she raised concerns about a youth missing a therapy appointment — one required to remain in compliance with a funding source for the youth. Within a string of emails that reflected the disorganization at NWYS, Revel was told that her advocacy for the youth as a case manager in the situation was “role confusion.”
She told CDN that PAD youth missing therapy appointments had become commonplace. She said the ongoing issue was due to untrained staff filling in, lack of consistency among a constantly shifting managerial team and negligence in procedures and protocols.
A promised wage increase and promotion evaporated, she said. Shortly afterward, Revel said, her role was dissolved, her hours were changed and she faced a sudden litany of accusations — so she quit. Revel, who said she suffered from complex PTSD prior to NWYS, broke down in tears recalling the series of events, saying that the experience left her devastated and further traumatized.
Hiring practices questioned
Former employees described problems that arose from hiring younger, inexperienced staff who were unequipped to push back on the organization’s pattern of hiring McGill’s friends and some who appeared unqualified for a job.
“A lot of folks were pulled into positions really quickly that they were not prepared for because they were young and impressionable and able to fill whatever role wanted of them by upper management,” one former employee said.
McGill told CDN, “Leaning into abolition work, it’s not about if someone has a degree, it’s about elevating people into leadership roles who have lived experiences within the field so that we can promote a culture of learning, and transformation.
“Lived experience qualifies you for so many opportunities, including leadership roles,” he added. “I believe that if I have the capacity to elevate someone with lived experience into a leadership role, I’ve done my part.”
Yet, when these employees turned to their supervisors — who often had little to no institutional knowledge due to the high turnover rate — or directly to McGill for support, they were given only platitudes and encouragement, several employees explained.
Alex, who also is identified by a pseudonym, hesitantly joined NWYS in a manager role, recognizing that it was a position they could grow into.
“I got to the PAD and everyone was wrecked,” Alex told CDN, noting that there were only two staff available to work the night shifts at the 24/7 shelter at the time — and one was part-time.
Another former employee pointed out that a shelter such as the PAD would require between 10 and 14 full-time employees and that “three to five staff covering that floor does not provide the services that we say we’re providing.” The PAD provides short-term housing for youth ages 13–17 up to 90 days.
In a series of emails shared with CDN, Alex pleaded for help from other departments, rebranded as “pillars” in the organization, to cover the shifts, going so far as to offer a $200 bonus that was approved by McGill.
Within two weeks of starting, Alex was promoted from the management position to an associate director position. Alex had never held a management position prior to working at NWYS but was told it was basically the same job, but came with a pay and title bump.
“It was not the same position,” said Alex, who was issued a credit card, given a budget to manage and put in charge of federal and state grants for the PAD. Alex had no previous experience in grant management or with budgets.
Within several months, Alex was pressured into taking a director position. If turned down, Alex was told a friend and colleague of theirs would be fired and someone from outside the organization would be hired for the role.
After being promoted, Alex raised youth safety concerns. Shortly afterward, they were fired for “performance issues.”
Some of the employees who spoke with CDN said they had previously hesitated to come forward not only because of fears of retaliation but because they worried about the potential negative impact on the essential services NWYS offered in the community.
The organization was still filled with many dedicated, caring people who wanted to do some good in the world by supporting at-risk youth — and were doing that work, they added.
There were also concerns about the long-term consequences McGill’s potential fall from grace would have, as he had positioned himself as the face of the multiracial community in Bellingham and there were worries that the accusations would undermine real concerns of racism within Whatcom County.
They said they were also afraid of being pulled back into the vicious world of retaliation that they associate with McGill and his inner circle.
“They are like so many of us that went through the f—ing trenches and have gotten free and are terrified now of being drawn back in,” one former employee said.
Reporter Annie Todd contributed to this story.
Isaac Stone Simonelli is CDN’s enterprise/investigations reporter; reach him at isaacsimonelli@cascadiadaily.com; 360-922-3090 ext. 127.
