This is supposed to be the moment where I look back at my time at The Alligator and reflect.
I could tell you about the late nights, hard-fought stories and small victories in finding the right words.
I should tell you about how I started here as a freshman who felt a tug in her chest to work alongside other student journalists who became like family.
But I will not.
Not here, at least. Come find me. Let’s grab some coffee, and I can tell you then.
Here, in this space I cherish deeply, I want to tell you about my future. And yours, too.
In the next year or so, I will (hopefully) have a job that I love. I will meet passionate people who care about keeping their communities informed. I will write.
But journalism is suffering. It’s difficult to accept. However, I’ve always been a believer in confronting a problem directly, even if it makes my stomach churn.
So let’s talk about it. If you’re reading this column, maybe by chance or on purpose, you know The Alligator. You know journalism. My hope is if a story ever made you cry, gasp or scream, you care about the fact that journalism is suffering.
Student newsrooms in particular do the best they can, but like all professional newsrooms, they’re struggling to survive.
Because the story that made you cry, gasp or scream made someone else feel something, too. At The Alligator, I have poured hundreds of hours over my own stories to make sure they capture the people behind them. But journalism needs people to care as we search for sustainable business models.
The bottom line: The stories of your community will go uncovered if there are less people able to write about them. Less people of color in newsrooms could mean communities being ignored. Not because people don’t care but because they have so much going on already. Not only that, but the financial strain is causing journalism to become a career only people with money are able to afford pursuing.
Perhaps one of the most troubling trends is the idea that low-income students who cannot afford to take an unpaid summer internship will be dissuaded from pursuing this career. But their voices are needed.
Because here’s the thing about journalism: It’s a field about humans, by humans. One of the best pieces of advice I have ever heard from a UF journalism professor: Don’t lose your humanity. Remember to be a human first, because the stories we write are rooted in the art of storytelling. I truly believe journalism, even if it goes completely digital in my lifetime, will continue to tell the stories about communities that have been ignored for a long time.
A strong democracy needs a free press. Freedom of the press is freedom of the people. We are lucky to have an independent press in the U.S. — of that I have no doubt.
In the last of this space, I want to thank everyone who has helped me pursue this craft called journalism. The reason I have gotten the opportunities I’ve had is because there were editors who took a chance on me, friends who wanted to see me grow and family who supported me through it all.
A mi mamá: Gracias por todo. Nunca me dijiste que no iba a poder completar esta carrera, siempre dijiste que debía que hacer lo que me hiciera feliz. Te quiero, por siempre.
This column is supposed to be a farewell to the newsroom that took me in, but I know from our alumni the ties to The Alligator are never truly cut. You write your own reality, but I hope you write it with the idea of a free press.
Because guess what?
Journalism ain’t dead. Chill.
Melissa Gomez is a UF journalism senior. She is the editor-in-chief of The Alligator.
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