I have finally emerged from my hermitry, both digital (not posting on this blog) and physical (not leaving the Bradford classroom).
You may ask, dear reader, “What hermitry?”. Very good question. By hermitry I mean that I essentially did not enter the real world as I finished the layout for the January issue of the paper. For those of you who do not know what layout is, this is generally the process: I hole up in the Bradford room and do not leave. Ever. I eat obscene amounts of junk food, which other people bring to me. I toil and agonize over line spacing and photo alignment, and I scare myself with my ability to easily recognize the difference between size 11 and size 12 font after so many hours of adjusting text. Then, I eat some baby carrots and a few apple slices because I am healthy and also because I want to offset all the Doritos and potato chips and tootsie rolls I ate. I toil and agonize over details like making sure neighboring lines of text align, but the other editors and I also make important changes like adding periods and designing the centerfold. I decided to write about how we do layout because I recently realized that people — in and out of Bradford — are genuinely interested in figuring out how we take a loose assortment of Google documents and transform them into neat columns with pictures and tidy pull quotes. There are three chapters of layout. The first entails section editors pasting stories into the template we have in Adobe InDesign. They are the ones who decide where a story fits, which photos go in, if an article gets a pull quote. Now that I am no longer a section editor, I sometimes miss this process, for there is something slightly empowering about this ability to choose what goes in print. The second step of layout is “merging”. We (the print Editor-in-Chief and I) collect each section’s layout and put them all together into one paper outline. This part generally takes us the longest because this is when layout really becomes a puzzle. We have sections of text that are intact and don’t need too much work, so they stay locked in place. Then we have other pieces we tweak, and, like a puzzle, we need to find where they fit. Here, we spend our time pulling and adjusting, but we also have room for creativity, to think outside of the (text) box, to include pictures and graphics, try new fonts or features. The third and final chapter is the perfectionist chapter. This is when, with a relieved sigh, we print out the full draft of the paper and finally go home. From home, I scour the entire issue for typos, funny looking lines, or incomplete captions. The next morning we work in all the copy edits, and then we are ready to send it to the printer. Just the idea of layout makes me laugh a little. I can’t be the only one who finds it strange that for months we focus all our efforts into becoming better writers, asking clearer questions, and growing into hungrier reporters, and then suddenly once it’s time to put together an issue, we completely switch gears and we become graphic designers. Layout requires an entirely different skill set than writing. I’m not saying this is a bad thing at all, though. I love that the section editors get to be creative with the process, and I think there is a rare value in having someone who knows the material so intimately, someone who has followed these stories from their conceptions, do the layout. It’s easier to stay true to the material and to make sure the photo, pull quotes, and overall appearance of the text reflect what the story voices. There is something so soothing about adjusting column heights and methodically going through checking fonts and adjusting wording. It is a state of calm hyperfocus. There is an interesting paradox with the stress of actually going to print, the rush of needing photos now, articles now, up against the calm of actually laying out stories. There is nothing you can do but be slow, careful, and methodical when putting stories in. It’s thoughtful and intentional placement, and there is an art to that.
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This IS a watershed moment. For me. For girls everywhere. And for my nation.
I have gone through life with the privilege of achieving what I want. This isn’t to say that I haven’t faced obstacles as a female — I have — but they have always been obstacles, never barriers. This is why I am so shaken. This is the first time in my life that I have felt powerless to elevate womankind and humankind. This is the first time that I have actually seen the glass ceiling in action. I’ve felt it, but never have I seen it so blatantly. We were so close — SO CLOSE — to shattering that glass ceiling, and that empowered me unlike anything else. I danced around the kitchen with the thought of putting Hillary Clinton in the White House and cheered at the top of my lungs when I watched positive results come in. I was going to watch the first female elected president. I was going to watch the first female elected president! And then — in what was a slap in the face to me, to Hillary Clinton, to Michelle Obama, to Barack Obama, and to women everywhere — I didn’t. Instead of empowering young females and showing that the sky is the limit when creating change, we elected a man who has outright admitted to and bragged about groping women, who continually evaluates females on their appearances, and who treats his wives with the same amount of respect as Henry the 8th. This is the message I see: as women, to become president, we must be perfect down to the last undeleted email. As men, to become president, you can be a sexist, a bigot, a racist, a climate-change-denier, an egotist, and utterly inexperienced but still win. How can any young woman feel empowered under these circumstances? I wish I were able to accept the outcome of this election and move on. But this is unlike any other election. The results of this election show that over half of our country consciously chose to value their own economic comfort over basic, fundamental rights for human beings, human beings who have been denied those basic rights for hundreds of years. And I cannot overlook that. Even if Hillary had won, I could not overlook the overwhelming, unsettling number of people who disregard common human decency in this country. There are people who can hear someone boast about groping women and not have moral objections. There are people who can listen to a candidate propose banning Muslims and not morally object to that. There are people who can see anyone promote gay conversion treatment and not take offense. So maybe, this can be the wakeup call we needed. For so many people, the fact that Donald Trump will become president means we now are forced to face issues we have been avoiding for so long. And that can become a good thing. Hillary Clinton won the popular vote, and that is encouraging to me. The majority of people (even if they are the majority of people by only one measure) chose love over hate. So now is the time for us to amplify that: support female leaders, celebrate religious differences, understand racial differences and microaggressions, stand up for LGBTQ+ friends. It’s time for me to start making small changes at home so that I can finally see this change on a national scale. In fact, it is not just time. These simple actions are well overdue. And, I hope I am not alone in making these changes. If I am going to preach acceptance of human differences, I must be accepting of human differences. People who voted for Trump chose to set back women, black people, Muslims, Hispanics, people who identify as LGBTQ+, disabled people, and so many other individuals. But the individuals who feel this way are humans and their opinions have value too. In trying to come to terms with this, I find solace in one of the truest strings of words from Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.. He said “Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that”. And that is how I must act. I can hate ideas, but I cannot hate people because that leads only to more hate and more division. I am not angry at individuals. I am angry at the collective hate. And I am so so saddened by the truth. But that is anger and sadness that can be harnessed. Anger against an idea can be — must be — channelled into something positive. And this is where I am empowered by the words of Hillary Clinton herself. In her concession speech, when she began talking to young people, I felt like she was talking directly to me: And to the young people in particular, I hope you will hear this. I have, as Tim said, spent my entire adult life fighting for what I believe in. I’ve had successes and I’ve had setbacks. Sometimes, really painful ones. Many of you are at the beginning of your professional public and political careers. You will have successes and setbacks, too. This loss hurts, but please never stop believing that fighting for what’s right is worth it. It is — it is worth it. And so we need you to keep up these fights now and for the rest of your lives. And to all the women, and especially the young women, who put their faith in this campaign and in me, I want you to know that nothing has made me prouder than to be your champion. Hillary Clinton is my champion. She has shown the world how far women can go. More importantly, she has shown me that the world won’t let women go farther. And she has inspired me to change that. There is still room to shatter the glass ceiling, to make the impossible possible. And there is no reason for me not the be the one to do this. And this is where the tears truly flow. They are not the hot angry tears that come when I realize Donald Trump will be our president. They are the anxious, delicate tears that come when I realize the enormous space there is for improvement, when I listen to Hillary talk and it seems like it is directly to me. They come with the realization of how much that burden — that opportunity — falls to me and girls just like me all across every state and every country. Hillary cracked the glass ceiling; it is up to us to shatter it. Throughout the first presidential debate, I stayed quiet — mostly because I felt that everything I had to say had already been said. But this second debate was different. This time I watched not because I was enticed by the build up of media outlets, but because I felt obliged as a woman, as a human being, to see how Republican presidential nominee, Donald Trump, responded to his horrific bragging about sexually assaulting women.
Perhaps it was the presence of the citizen’s voice in the town hall format of the debate, or perhaps it was the coziness of the Sunday night before Columbus day, or perhaps it was just me, but this debate felt personal. I watched because I needed to know how our potential future president would possibly explain why he still deserves our vote after explaining how he demonstrates his sexual prowess. And his big defense? It was “locker room talk”. This almost disturbs me more than his initial remarks. It bothers me because he is sending the message that it is still OK to speak about women this way– as long as you are safe inside the sphere of an all male gym bathroom or the confines of the Access Hollywood bus. Talking this way anyplace perpetuates the notion that acting this way towards human beings is acceptable. What does this mean for girls like me, about to enter the real world, out of the safe bubble of home? It means we are alienated. It means we feel like people treat us differently simply because we lack a y chromosome. When individuals assume that women will “let you do …anything”, it sparks a spiral. If people see women as weak and susceptible sexually, not only is that itself a problem, but it sends a message about the character of all women in any situation: that we are at the beck and call of someone else. That we lack the bit of gumption it takes to stand up for ourselves, whether it be when someone tries to make a move on us or when we attempt to take any sort of leadership position. Speaking about women — or any human being for that matter — with anything less than respect keeps females on the sidelines of business, politics, and any influential decision making. If people talk about women as beings who swoon and lose all judgement as soon as someone starts kissing them, how will we ever assume women have what it takes to make big decisions? How will we ever right the disturbing fact that that only 22 women are CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, the fact that a mere 20% of senators and 19% of representatives are female? For any group to be successful, we must address, or at least acknowledge, all perspectives, and by talking about and treating women as if they are anything less than human, we invalidate their opinions. We cut them off from having any meaningful say in our society. When ½ of the population is threatened or silenced by those in charge, how will our country ever live up to its promises of inclusivity and liberty? Men and women alike can not look up to a person who regards 50% of the population as disposables, helpless beings who will go weak at the knees because he’s famous, and he’s chewing tic-tacs. This is someone who goes through wives as if they were cars — used and appreciated for a while until they get rusty, then time to exchange them for a newer model (pun mostly intended). This moment in history carries dire consequences. On the one hand, never have we seen such inclusion and celebration of diversity — we have our first black president, our first female presidential nominee. And on the other, we hear some of the most graphic and harmful disenfranchisement of people in the modern day. The choice lies in our hands: do we choose to elevate all American people by progressing and including, celebrating the diversity we hold? Or, do we wish to stall and prevent ourselves from moving forward from the days where women are confined to the home, gays are closeted, and blacks are abused? I have never been afraid of being sexually assaulted. I am so lucky that I have grown up in a family and in a community where human respect comes first and foremost. But Friday, I doubted that lack of fear for the first time in my life. As a 17-year old girl, how can I feel safe in a country where the president condones — or worse, boasts about– sexual assault? I can’t. This work received a Regional Honorable Mention in Personal Essay/Memoir in the 2016-2017 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards The time has finally come for me to descend (or perhaps ascend) into the depths of the internet, the eclectic, edgy underbelly of journalism, the quirky, colorful cousin of columns and editorials: the blogosphere.
I was not sure where to begin my first post or what this page would even grow into because while I certainly have plenty to say, I fear that much of what I have to say is something that only I care about (cf. my passion for the Elm Bank mansion). However, today I found some reassurance. This was when I first met the word “sonder”. Those of you well-acquainted with these internet backwaters, into which I now delve, have probably come across this word before, but for those of you, like me, who are new to this world of tumblr treasures, I will save you the searching and explain. “Sonder” is a noun that encompasses the feeling that comes with the realization that every individual has their own story; each passerby on the sidewalk, each tollbooth collector, each passenger on an airplane leads a life just as complex and complicated as your own. I rather liked this word because it finally simplified an idea that I, as a journalist but more importantly as an individual, have grappled with extensively. I finally have six letters compactly pieced together to explain how I see my job as a journalist and why I love my job as a journalist. I am here to share a piece of your story. Not the whole thing, but just a slice. I love more than anything the ability this job gives me to walk up to a stranger and sit with them — in a coffee shop, the school library, their office — and have them spill out that section of their life. I love learning of their triumphs or troubles, but most of all I am fascinated to learn of their quirks, their interests, their mannerisms– the oddities that prove there is a full person there behind the two or three sentences they may receive in a newspaper article. It is invigorating to feel that whatever you have covered in your hour together, there is always more to learn; there will always be humorous episodes, fateful encounters, stressful evenings awaiting their time to be told or perhaps things that will never be told. But as journalists, the power to unearth those hidden stories lies within us, and there is something thrilling about that in itself. So I researched this word further, and I found that this gem of a word comes from equally refreshing origins. Blog aficionado John Koenig coined the term — and hundreds more– in his own blog, The Dictionary for Obscure Sorrows. Since 2006, Koenig has aimed create words that “fill a hole in the language” and give name to existential emotions just beyond our grasp of completely understanding. Others include “wytai”, the realization of the world’s absurdities, or “klexos”, the art of appreciating — rather than dwelling– in the past. Koenig creates these words, but not arbitrarily. He builds them after receiving suggestions for feelings that need naming and carefully researching etymologies to assign the right letters and sounds to a feeling. Sonder is especially appealing because it combines the sounds of “wonder” with the word “story” since after all, that is what it all comes down to: wondering about someone’s story. This only made me appreciate “sonder” more. Koenig’s blog shows the power and the importance of a word. It celebrates letters, and it acknowledges the fact that every word represents so much more than the compilation of serifs and typeface that stand in its place. So here it is, my sonder. Stop and dabble around for a while, learn some things about my story, and, maybe, leave a piece of your own. |