please don't say the j word.

it's not job. it's journalism.

For those of you who didn’t know, I am one of those few Medill kids who are actually pursuing journalism as a career (instead of consulting, obviously).

Whenever I introduce myself to someone new at this school, Medill or journalism major is always followed by unfortunately. Its something slight I’ve made into my own during my [already!] two years at this institution. I say it with a kind of self-awareness that acknowledges the connotations before allowing us to laugh and just move on.

I feel like most Medill students are looked at with a type of strange curiosity. Whether it be our frantic running around for the first year reporting sequence or the cult-like devotion of many students to the Daily Northwestern, there’s a certain color that I feel like many of us are painted by on campus. And for being the nation’s best journalism school, I don’t think many of us are particularly excited about our degrees.

The cat is has been out of the bag for the past decade. Journalism as a social institutions is struggling. Objective truth doesn’t exist, narrative is a power struggle, the scientific method of observation doesn’t just cut it anymore and print is flailing all the way down. The people we say we are serving don’t read past the headline.

So, maybe the stickiness of the label is a sort of pity from the onlooker, that we as young, bright students have bound ourselves to a sinking ship. And honestly, I agree. Why would I be excited about something that feels so bleak?

But, alas, here I am. I’m someone who has always been drawn to doom and gloom. When I was a kid, I would sit on the living room floor and, with genuine rapture, watch the news. I thought it was fun to learn about what was going on beyond the scope of my 8 year old worldview. For my college application to Northwestern, I wrote about journalism and its power on my life. But what did I know at 17, when the limitations of my high school paper barely count as experience for where I stand today.

acceptance letter; the excitement I felt for this opportunity has since turned into a love that pervades my relationships and my work here. and yet.

Approaching the third year of my commitment to journalism, I can’t help but think about where my work is taking me. I like to think that I’ve been trying my best to report and write without yielding any my core values. I like to think that I’ve handled everyone I’ve spoken to with care. I have grown to know storytelling so much more intimately than when I first came back to America. The process of learning about this beautiful city, talking to people who care enough to share with me things I would have otherwise never known, has been so gratifying.

It’s not that I don’t think journalism is important—it absolutely is. People have the right to information and to be empowered is often synonymous with knowing. The simple act of knowing what’s happening in your city, knowing who’s doing what can lead to real action. The question lies, rather, in whether the form and function that journalism aligns with is enough.

Here’s the truth: it’s not. The way we disseminate stories in this moment does not reach people. The gilded age of journalism, one that deemed there was a “right way” to write a story, one that had the overarching authority and voice, does not and CAN NOT stand today. It simply can’t contain the complexities of identity and real life because that was not the original intent.

American journalism bloomed from white people explaining things to other white people through a singular, rigid lens. Explaining is the act of unraveling something the way you perceive it, while sharing is the act of contextualizing, uplifting and building on. It’s unfortunate that there isn’t enough of the latter.

This, paired with the fact that everyone has developed tunnel vision into their own opinion, means that the function journalism once had in informing people is obsolete. And it has everything to do with power.

We need an upheaval. Despite the pained efforts that journalists of color have put into changing this newsroom culture, it still lurks everywhere. And with the cuts to free press, who knows how this is going to affect the small triumphs we’ve already had. I know that this article might sound redundant to the fellow journalists who will read this, but I’m writing it in the hopes that I will figure out my place in all of this.

A mural in Argyle by Caroline Liu, seen while I was reporting

I started off my sophomore year of journalism with a renewed enthusiasm of sorts, a hopefulness from the freedom of that dreadful first-year sequence. Although I am proud of the work I did this year, it has made me more confused than ever. I don’t know if I really want to do this for a living, especially if the pay is going to be abysmal and no one is going to read the work I put out. There are better, more productive uses of my time.

So, why is it that when someone asks me about post grad plans, I always say I want to be a journalist?

Honestly, I don’t know why I have the urge to keep going. It’s somewhere between a small optimism and plain stubbornness. With every setback I feel, it’s almost like a dare: How much can I take? I feel like there is so much work to do. But I’m willing to do it.

And living as a journalist, albeit a student version of it, never leaves me bored. The news ecosystem in Chicago inspires me because there are so many nonprofits and smaller outlets aiming to include the people they are writing about. I don’t know how the future of journalism is going to play out because it’s already changed so much. But I guess I’m just here for the ride.