In a way, scandal has always marked my time at The Herald. I knew about Ebony Thompson before classes even started freshman year and a minority peer counselor, who was looking out for me, warned me about The Herald's not-so-warm response to students of color, citing all the clashes in earlier years. But I wasn't taking "no" for an answer. "An organization is just an organization," I thought. "The people who join it make it what it is."
I didn't expect my passive time as a layout editor to progress to an active news reporter - and then the Horowitz ad came along. At the time, I was writing a story for my journalism class about RESist, the campus advocacy group for a department in race and ethnic studies - and, because of the Horowitz ad, I never completed the assignment. I just happened to work at The Herald at the time. The people I hoped to interview, most of whom were founding members of the student coalition formed after the ad ran, considered me "a spy." Others on campus, I'm sure, thought the few minority reporters at The Herald were sell-outs.
I could never fully take sides when lines were being drawn in March 2001. Those doing the arguing made it so that you were either for The Herald or against it. I listened to a close friend, upset and hurt by the ad and not realizing who she was talking to, say she couldn't understand how anyone could work for the paper. So spring of my freshman year was a time of deep confusion, intense sympathy for both camps and the uncertainty of ever writing again.
But, when the Horowitz controversy died down, I went back to reporting - it became clear to me that, if I stuck to it, I could possibly make a difference at The Herald and alter others' perceptions of it. It was, of course, all about empowerment.
As I worked up the ranks, however, I could only be so critical of the paper as my allegiance to it grew and I understood better how the newsroom environment functioned. In fact, when I realized the tensions between communities and their papers are largely a function of how stories get reported, I was less bitter about not seeing "concrete" improvements - changes, on a large scale, are more subtle anyway.
Today, I can honestly say the paper is a different entity. It functions on a regular basis cognizant of its rocky past and lessons are knowingly passed down from editorial board to editorial board. Whether the changes last is up to future reporters and editors and how well the past remains in the collective memories of Herald members. But, while the 113th Editorial Board was there, the latter was never a problem: We were freshman during Horowitz and, stunned by the intense student response, consistently perked up with word of similar struggles in Brown history.
I leave the University deeply affected by my experiences here. I have a much better handle on how the media work and, more importantly, what the word "community" means to me. And as I write my second personal column for The Herald, I am strongly reminded of my first, two years ago: an emotional and angry response to controversy in the South Asian community that I, possibly poorly, linked to larger issues of gender inequality in the community. That, perhaps, was the single most life-altering experience of my time at Brown, fending for myself and my published words. The media, whether inside or outside of the process, is a powerful, personal thing.
Heading into medical school, I take many lessons with me about community and communicating. They will, in the end, make me better at however I choose to contribute to society. I do have my family and friends to thank for that too, but ultimately I thank all that makes Brown Brown to me, from its outspoken community to The Herald, to the Neuroscience department to every building and individual that seems to fit in perfectly.
Kavita Mishra '04 was a Herald Senior Editor.
