Media pass, check. Notepad, check. Pen, check. Phone, check.
I stand at the edge of the crowd, feeling the familiar pulse of anticipation before a protest unfolds. Covering protests has become routine in my role as news editor for The University Star, yet each event carries its own atmosphere – its own kind of intensity. Today, it’s the pro-Palestine rallies that have drawn people in. Green and red flags ripple in the air, and a collective energy fills the space; students raising their voices in powerful unison for a cause they feel deeply connected to.
The chants echo around me – phrases that speak to frustration. Standing here with my notepad in hand, I’m reminded of the delicate balance I must keep: observer, not participant; witness, not judge. As the crowd swells, there’s a magnetic quality to it, the kind that almost pulls you in, yet I ground myself in the role I’m here to play – to document objectively, to report with clarity.
These pro-Palestine protests aren’t the only ones I’ve covered on campus, but they feel charged in a particular way. The issues are deeply personal for many, touching on cultural identity, generational trauma, and a complex geopolitical landscape. Even as I remain impartial, there’s a weight to the stories I hear, a poignancy that stays with me after the last chant has faded and the flags have come down. I’m here to capture their voices as they are, not to influence them, and it’s a commitment that challenges me every time I step into these spaces.
Then there are other kinds of protests, like the one with two demonstrators and their controversial signs that drew hundreds of counter-protesters in opposition. This was a different kind of intensity, a confrontation that sparked raw anger, immediate and visceral. Students surrounded the demonstrators, responding with chants, and tension spilled over as the crowd expanded, blocking pathways and filling the open space. Here, my challenge was to move through the scene without letting the chaos pull me in; to be a steady presence capturing an event that defied neutrality, even as I tried to stay rooted in it.
As the officers escorted the demonstrators off campus that day, followed by a stream of protesters, I felt the distinct weight of my responsibility to tell the story fully, to present it without bias. At each protest I cover, I find myself reminded of the power and fragility of free expression; how these events are platforms for voices that demand to be heard – even when the messages collide, even when emotions run high.
Each protest leaves an imprint, a trace of the experiences shared, the words spoken, the passion ignited. I walk away each time with my notepad filled, but it’s the moments themselves – the swell of voices, the piercing symbols, the connection among strangers – that linger long after I publish the story. Standing in the middle of it all, I feel the hum of it and I do my best to let it resonate on the page without letting it take me over. Being a journalist in the thick of a protest is like straddling two worlds: engaged yet impartial, documenting yet untouched. It’s a delicate, ever-present balance, one that I hold onto each time I step into the field.