This took me six years to learn, three of which were alternating terms working for the school publication, four years in the debate society, and four years participating in college org activities.
Before setting foot in Silliman University, I was already one of its student journalists, trained through Google Docs revisions, Google Meet or Zoom meetings, and Discord hangouts. The pandemic halted physical operations, but the news persisted online. Seniors told me about the joy and excitement of working on the ground, recalling how they’d hand out newspapers to students, interview them on the spot, chase down subjects of interest for a good quote and a headline that would have newsstands run out of copies.
It was an exciting reality, one I could not wait to live out when the pandemic passed.
In my first year of college, I was finally living the dream. Before being accepted into my college course, I was already a Features Editor, helping plan out the publication’s direction for the school year. That year, I was fulfilled. I travelled in the name of journalism, mentored writers whose shoes I once wore, filled in the newspaper’s blank spaces with articles of interest to me, and expanded my skill set by helping to direct a film for the magazine and write documentary scripts.
It seemed like the publication was the perfect place for me to flourish while being of use to the world. And yet, I kept leaving every other year, as if the organization and I were the same sides of a magnet being forced to stick together—we repel.
Deep inside, I knew I could not bear to consistently exist in that bustling environment, no matter how much I loved the work, no matter how much I considered it important. Adding to the weight of storytelling and the administration’s criticism, there was the burden of having your assets mismanaged by peers who thought little significance about human relationships.
Human resources management isn’t a GE subject. Nobody teaches every person within a college organization how to successfully retain the workforce, to keep your members feeling valued and supported—not mocked, not shamed for one’s mistakes. Every organization has its flaws, as flawed human beings manage such groups. It is in learning how to correct these mistakes that growth happens. It shows accountability. It shows that you respect those who work alongside you enough to fulfill your shared mission.
You can’t expect to make the world a better place from productivity and efficiency alone, no matter how important they are to the communities you serve. Most importantly, you can’t make the world a better place alone. You collaborate with the community. However, often overlooked is the simple truth: You are not separate from the people you serve. The liberation of the community must not come at the expense of your own.
“Serve, but unlearn saviorism,” said an Instagram post I came across recently.
Viewing yourself above the community you work for makes you no less than the politicians who regard themselves as better people because of their capacity to stretch themselves for others. While regarded as selfless, it would seem as if those without a platform—without any position of privilege—are entirely helpless. It pushes the narrative that Filipinos cannot stand on their feet without being saved by those of higher social standing.
My point is not to scare away potential staffers for the university newspaper or anyone interested in public service. Translating passion into action is the most admirable act one could endeavor into—it is the loudest form of activism. And yet, it is the most exhausting. I’m saying that you are the vessel by which service can translate to change. To disregard yourself is to kill the possibility of a reality where work and play can coexist, where rest is obtained, and where the ideal world we wish to have can be sustained. To overwork yourself is to fail in saving one member of the community.
Do not abandon service altogether, but be virtuous. You are just another member of the human race. You are not omnipotent being capable of turning the tides for one group. You can try, but never alone.
Today, more than ever, there is a need to shift our perception of service while being student leaders. We are the new seniors who will influence younger minds; we must become more mindful of the character we bring into what we do. What affects you affects others also.
In simple words, take care of yourself. You can’t serve others if you’re dead.
In journalism, “No story is worth dying for.”
