Thoughts on First PS Draft
Posted: Mon Sep 28, 2020 5:06 am
Show no mercy:
The pain is an excruciating, hollowing feeling that a drill is being driven into my chest. It’s a toxic cocktail of high-wire nerves and gut-punching melancholy that combusts in my stomach and leaves me crumbling under the weight of the world. It’s why, at times, I’ve even contemplated the unthinkable.
This is my struggle, my story to tell. Everyone has their own, each with unique twists, turns, conflicts and climaxes. Three and a half years of journalism school pounded that concept into my brain, especially since the professor I grew closest to is known for producing a series where a reporter found interview subjects by flipping a dart backwards over his shoulder at a map of the United States and traveling wherever it struck.
I took this principle outside the classroom in my work. It flows easy when I've announced professional and college sports. Who doesn’t want to hear about the backup quarterback that beat testicular cancer, his father was in the NFL, and both his parents were contestants on Survivor? There were plenty of tales like those that slipped through my smile-cracked lips. After all, they are everywhere. However, when I leave campus, the most crucial story I’ll remember happened outside the lines.
12 separate displays of racist or anti-semitic graffiti were discovered around campus over just 13 days last November. To make things worse, someone also decided to post the New Zealand shooter’s hate-filled manifesto in an online (school name) forum, triggering fears of an incoming school shooting. Working for the campus television station at the time, keeping up with the news felt like trying to keep pace with Usain Bolt.
Protests eventually took hold. A week-long sit-in challenging racism on campus inside the lobby of a new building campus was followed by a loud, large march throughout campus on a cold Wednesday night. Though jolted with caffeine in my 14th consecutive hour at the station that day, I stared at the images being sent back to the studio in stunned silence. The jitters could wait for the outcry.
As a Jew, the anti-semitic graffiti stung, but clearly not even close to the degree it had affected students of color. Those late-night marches and the debates that have taken hold in the United States surrounding racism in recent months have given me plenty of time to think about why that was. But no matter how much research I conduct, accounts I hear, or concepts I come to understand, I’ll never see the world through their eyes. Their experience is one only they can truly tell.
It made me think about my story. My pain is still all too real at times, but for me, taking on the weight of the world only meant besting my own inner demons. I do not have to actually tackle the world while doing it. No one should have to.
I’d done endless research and digging, creative thinking, editing, meticulous reading of fine print and much more to try and master the art of storytelling. When I thought about ways I could make a difference through it, I realized I can’t carry much weight. People can now choose what they want to see and hear and completely isolate themselves from anything that validates their mindset. I witnessed people — people I knew — walk through these protests and address the demonstrators’ legitimate grievances with derision in a tone that was almost humorous. The people who tell stories don’t make the biggest difference any more. It’s the people who make them.
I’ve always long admired our system of government, its many quirks and the strenuous effort undertaken to launch an experiment that’s approaching its 250th anniversary. I even wrote a 15-page paper strictly about how much James Madison’s effort shaped the governing document we still live under today.
Despite its beauty, this same document has often kept progress non-linear and slow on issues ranging from the early civil rights movement up to fights for healthcare access and combating police brutality now. Yet those who put in the work within the system can achieve amazing things. I want to be a lawyer because it’s not enough to follow the story of change in real time anymore. I need to put up my own fight for someone else to talk about.
The pain is an excruciating, hollowing feeling that a drill is being driven into my chest. It’s a toxic cocktail of high-wire nerves and gut-punching melancholy that combusts in my stomach and leaves me crumbling under the weight of the world. It’s why, at times, I’ve even contemplated the unthinkable.
This is my struggle, my story to tell. Everyone has their own, each with unique twists, turns, conflicts and climaxes. Three and a half years of journalism school pounded that concept into my brain, especially since the professor I grew closest to is known for producing a series where a reporter found interview subjects by flipping a dart backwards over his shoulder at a map of the United States and traveling wherever it struck.
I took this principle outside the classroom in my work. It flows easy when I've announced professional and college sports. Who doesn’t want to hear about the backup quarterback that beat testicular cancer, his father was in the NFL, and both his parents were contestants on Survivor? There were plenty of tales like those that slipped through my smile-cracked lips. After all, they are everywhere. However, when I leave campus, the most crucial story I’ll remember happened outside the lines.
12 separate displays of racist or anti-semitic graffiti were discovered around campus over just 13 days last November. To make things worse, someone also decided to post the New Zealand shooter’s hate-filled manifesto in an online (school name) forum, triggering fears of an incoming school shooting. Working for the campus television station at the time, keeping up with the news felt like trying to keep pace with Usain Bolt.
Protests eventually took hold. A week-long sit-in challenging racism on campus inside the lobby of a new building campus was followed by a loud, large march throughout campus on a cold Wednesday night. Though jolted with caffeine in my 14th consecutive hour at the station that day, I stared at the images being sent back to the studio in stunned silence. The jitters could wait for the outcry.
As a Jew, the anti-semitic graffiti stung, but clearly not even close to the degree it had affected students of color. Those late-night marches and the debates that have taken hold in the United States surrounding racism in recent months have given me plenty of time to think about why that was. But no matter how much research I conduct, accounts I hear, or concepts I come to understand, I’ll never see the world through their eyes. Their experience is one only they can truly tell.
It made me think about my story. My pain is still all too real at times, but for me, taking on the weight of the world only meant besting my own inner demons. I do not have to actually tackle the world while doing it. No one should have to.
I’d done endless research and digging, creative thinking, editing, meticulous reading of fine print and much more to try and master the art of storytelling. When I thought about ways I could make a difference through it, I realized I can’t carry much weight. People can now choose what they want to see and hear and completely isolate themselves from anything that validates their mindset. I witnessed people — people I knew — walk through these protests and address the demonstrators’ legitimate grievances with derision in a tone that was almost humorous. The people who tell stories don’t make the biggest difference any more. It’s the people who make them.
I’ve always long admired our system of government, its many quirks and the strenuous effort undertaken to launch an experiment that’s approaching its 250th anniversary. I even wrote a 15-page paper strictly about how much James Madison’s effort shaped the governing document we still live under today.
Despite its beauty, this same document has often kept progress non-linear and slow on issues ranging from the early civil rights movement up to fights for healthcare access and combating police brutality now. Yet those who put in the work within the system can achieve amazing things. I want to be a lawyer because it’s not enough to follow the story of change in real time anymore. I need to put up my own fight for someone else to talk about.