As a profession, journalism is a baptism by fire. For me, it was baptism by pepper spray.
It’s been two years since this University deployed law enforcement to arrest, brutalize and pepper spray my peers whose only crime was to oppose a genocide in Palestine. I spent the better part of 2024 covering the fallout of these protests, documenting discriminatory treatment in jails and many a lawsuit. In the semesters since, I thought the news would die down, but if the Texan has taught me one thing, it’s that the news never stops.
Even though I just used the word “news” twice, I still can’t fully articulate what it means. I know, the concept of a news editor who can’t define news is concerning. After three years mulling it over, I’ve come to the conclusion that news is not a reality, but an opinion. News is what someone, usually some high-up editor no one ever sees in real life, thinks is important. The decisions of what to cover, what not to cover, who to talk to, how to frame a headline — it’s all just opinions, meaning every bit of news has bias loaded into it, whether the journalist meant to do it or not.
FYI, that tidbit was less for the news consumers (who probably already knew that) and more for the slightly-too-cocky reporters who like to think of themselves as some bastion of objectivity and fairness. It’s ok, I can say that, because I was definitely that person at one point. Shoutout to the J-school for getting rid of that mindset.
If my classes taught me that bias is unavoidable, then the Texan has taught me that good journalism is not. We can still promote transparency and hold people accountable (something about the fourth estate or whatever). We can be as fair as possible, but someone will always be pissed off, and that’s fine. They can cope.
In a few short months, I’m headed off into an industry that is changing by the minute, and a world where we can’t even discern truth from lies. It’s terrifying, but so were many moments at the Texan — from covering the pro-Palestinian demonstrations to documenting academic freedom changes and interviewing UT’s president. In hindsight, I’m so grateful for those scary moments because they gave me a front row seat to history. Sure, I got a face full of tear gas in the process, but what’s a little eye and throat irritation compared to a lifetime of memories?
Now, the Texan is about to become just that for me: a memory. As much time as I’ve spent talking about the work, what made the Texan feel like home was all the amazing people I got to become friends with in this basement, including people I probably never would have crossed paths with otherwise. It’s the memories I made with y’all — from matcha nights to ping pong games to late night yap sessions and inside jokes — that I will treasure the most. You guys are everything to me.
To Pili: my favorite ginger, you were a tough act to follow, and I’ll miss you and the unfettered joy you brought to the basement. I seem to have inherited your tendency for Slack typos, but any resemblance I bear to you only means that I’m doing a good job. You are a radiant person both inside and out, and I can’t wait to see you get to Alaska!
To Erika: We were in it from the beginning, from our locked-in freshman days to six (or seven?) semesters later, fighting for our lives as ANEs. I always knew I could count on you to brighten up a hard day or bring whimsy to a gloomy basement. You’re the matcha to my coffee (yes, hot coffee), and every time I see you, I know I’m going to smile.
To Matthew: as much as I clowned you for being old, I’m joining you in unc status. Thank you for the countless laughs and trips to Up & Atom and Nervous Charlie’s. We’ve come so far since that one journalism class in 2024, and I’m so grateful our friendship has outlived the basement. Still never managed to beat me in ping pong though, huh.
To Joelle, Kylee and Vivien: Nothing could have prepared me to be news editor more than watching your leadership. Forever grateful to have you as mentors.
Isaiah, as the more entrepreneurial half of the Racketeers, you have single-handedly changed my mind about business majors. I don’t know how I’m going to keep my ping pong skills sharp now. You made this insane semester so fun, and I’m going to miss the hell out of you. You’ll have to carry the flame, and I’m so excited to see what you do.
Laura, your dedication never ceases to amaze me, and your sense of humor carried us through some crazy times. I’ve loved working with you and knowing you these past semesters, and news won’t be the same without you. Maybe we won’t see each other in the basement anymore, but I think Centro will become my new third space.
Catharine, gone but never forgotten, you brought so much joy to the basement. I’ve missed your presence in the newsroom, but I hope you’re getting some sleep now. As the newsroom FOIA baddie (Thea Stilton who?), I think it’s only fitting that my goodbye to you is in the form of a public information request. Pursuant to the Texas Public Information Act, I humbly request the following: your never-ending friendship and kindness.
To my NDEs: this editing team would have been screwed without you. Diego, you better invite me to your next cereal event. Forever wishing you non-soggy Frosted Flakes. Despite your feelings about women, it has been an honor watching you grow over the last two years. Alex, thank you for imparting your internet wisdom and keeping me hip with the kids. I’ll have to get more chronically online without you and Ellie, and I might just be able to do that now without the Texan on my plate.
To Ari, Abbey, Kendall, Lizzie, Anjum and Valeria, you have the hardest job on the paper, and you absolutely killed it. I’d love to take credit for another wonderful news semester on the books, but that credit belongs entirely to y’all. To all my general reporters, you guys have been a joy to work with and I’m so excited to see what you do next.
To Naina and Justin: my FOIA freaks, your passion and grit will take you a long way, and I’ll be cheering you on from afar. It’s not a matter of if you win a Pulitzer, it’s a matter of when.
To Amelia and Breigh: I might have quit the Texan right before things got interesting if you didn’t give me a space to advocate for my beliefs. Thank you for genuinely listening and for your guidance during scary times. Ireland, thank you for hiring me all those years ago. Who knows what I’d be up to right now if you didn’t?
Newton, Brian and Mazzy, thank you for leading the paper this semester. Your work doesn’t go unnoticed. Ava, I’m so glad we got news and opinion on the same page. Thanks for letting me yap (and occasionally nap) in your office.
Charlotte and Manoo, you are some of the most dedicated photojournalists I’ve ever met. Major thanks to both of you for those haphazard juggling photoshoots.
Peter, I can’t say I’ll miss your critiques in my inbox, but I always appreciated that you held me to a high standard. Holding onto those five goods like my life depends on it.
Lastly, thank you to everyone who shared their stories with me. Whether they were stories of grief, trauma or hope, I am thankful you trusted me to be part of them in some small way.
Well that’s all she wrote. This is Maryam Ahmed, newsroom circus freak, signing off.
