Letters from the Editors: The J&J special

Jack Erickson, Co-Editor-in-Chief

There are things in this life that we cannot ignore.

The truth is one of them.

I established myself at Augie as a biology major, but by my sophomore year, I found myself plummeting into the realm of journalism. Daily I could sit down with someone new and learn something fresh, something unexpected. It felt right, so I dove in.

Year by year, I began to peel back more and more layers to find what journalism really is, its anatomy exposed.

With every conversation, with every truth, there is a burden. A responsibility to tell that person’s story as best you can. Add another interview. Add another perspective. Add another truth. What is true stops feeling obvious and starts feeling more like murky water.

Yet, as a journalist, you still have your obligation: Tell the truth. And if we fail to share those often buried perspectives? Then we aren’t really telling the truth — not for everyone.

Despite the challenge, the late nights, the sweat and tears, I can’t get enough.

I find joy in being multiperspectival. Not everyone does, and that’s a shame. 

When we choose to share every side’s truth, we choose a difficult path. It’s easy to believe that every issue looks the same through every lens, especially if that’s all we’ve ever learned. But it is our duty as journalists, citizens and human beings, to not only hear the perspectives of others but to seek them out.

It shouldn’t have to be a tough choice. But the world in 2025 is complex, layered and nuanced. Simple answers do not do any of us justice.

Let’s be clear: We are not all straight, white, cisgender, non-disabled, upper class men and women. That’s just not true. Trust me — any future that sacrifices minority rights to uplift those who have had rights for thousands of years is not a future we want to live in.

Limiting our perspectives makes it too easy to turn away, to ignore what’s staring us in the eyes. We must be multiperspectival. We must be interdisciplinary. It’s our job as journalists, and it’s our job as good humans.

Jocelyn Baas, Co-Editor-in-Chief

This year has been a weird one.

It’s a difficult time to be a student. It’s a very difficult time to be a journalist.

I suppose the fall semester started out sort of normally. Election news was loud, but I expected it to be. The fifth of November was a real shock, but I admit — and I doubt I am alone — that six-months-ago-me could never have predicted the magnitude of what was coming.

I check my email religiously, as a journalist is wont to do. Since Jan. 20, each hourly check has revealed a new “Breaking news: Something wildly upsetting has happened” from The New York Times. Sometimes, that news is about student journalists on another campus across the nation. Every time, my world feels a bit more askew.

When I came to Augustana, journalism had never even crossed my mind as an option. Two years later, I take the responsibility that my position entails incredibly seriously. 

I hate to half-ass things in the first place, but I refuse to give tasks less than my best if a subpar result will affect others. In the past two years, I’ve realized that journalism only exists because of its audience. It is a service to the public, when done honestly and earnestly.

I don’t strike gold every time I write, or even close to it, but God knows I’m trying. This is a time for trying. It’s a time for pushing forward, for asking hard questions, for boldly speaking one’s mind. Maybe the world has fallen off its axis, but it’s still our damn world, isn’t it?

I’m writing to the journalists in the audience, of course. But I’m also writing to the scientists and researchers. I’m writing to students on visas. I’m writing to future educators, to aspiring lawyers and politicians. 

I’m writing to you.

Here I am — struggling to stand on our weird, tilted world. 

Yes, it’s difficult. These are difficult times. Unprecedented times. Confusing times. Strange, upsetting, tiring times.

This year has been a weird one.

But here we are.

Standing.