Mistakes happen; process, not result most valuable

Linh Tat Tat was the 2001-2002 News editor. She
wishes her successor all the best.  

Two years ago, a black woman was kicked down the steps of
Campbell Hall, while racial slurs were made at her. People who were
here at that time may recall the incident, but few would ever be
able to tell you her name. I can. While covering that incident for
The Bruin, I had found out the woman’s name and phone number,
but unable to reach her by deadline, I feared that she would feel
victimized again if she saw her name in the paper the next morning
without prior knowledge that it would be released. I made a
conscious decision to withhold her name and briefly discussed this
with my editor. Shortly after the article ran, flyers pinned to
some doors of my Dykstra Hall floor expressed discontent that The
Bruin had referred to a hate crimes victim in such general terms as
“the student.” I think the writer was suggesting that
by not releasing the victim’s name, I had failed to give that
student her own identity, thus further dehumanizing her. The motive
I had for withholding her name ““ to keep her from feeling
victimized again ““ became the very thing I was called out for
doing. So much of news judgment lies in a gray area with no
definitive right or wrong. Even decisions made with the best
intentions can be perceived as a grave mistake by someone from the
outside ““ and sometimes the outside is correct. Journalists
pride themselves on being watchdogs for the people. It’s good
to know that people are watchdogs of the media as well. Two years
after “wrongfully” withholding the student’s name
(though I stand by my decision in this case), I found that I was to
make judgment calls on a daily basis ““ not only about content
matters this time, but about managing a staff. As before, I learned
that one will make mistakes even when guided by good intentions.
I’ve always said that it’s okay to not have all the
answers before undertaking a task; the point is to learn something
new by the time you reach the end. It’s a simple enough
concept, but one of the most painful lessons to have to understand
when you’re struggling. As a “newsroom leader,” I
found myself in a position that demanded I turn my own emotions on
and off to answer the needs of the staff, where standing up to my
boss would lead to divisiveness between my section and upper
management but not doing so meant that I was weak, and where even a
60-hour work week isn’t enough. How was I to know that my
finding the job difficult meant that I was doing something right? I
had learned before college (or so I thought) that it’s not
about the result, but the process ““ only, when it came time
to apply this principle, I couldn’t recognize it. Unable to
explain why 10-hour work days won’t guarantee a front page
filled with quality staff stories, and no longer having the
immediate gratification of a byline which I had enjoyed as a
writer, I at times turned to the tangible (i.e., counting the
number of staff stories each day) to legitimize my efforts this
year. In all my time at The Bruin, I’ve never resented the
place as much as this year, nor have I loved it more. I’ve
never felt more incompetent, nor more capable. Such lessons as
appreciating the process, forgiving oneself, and the idea that
“you don’t have to know you can do it to do it”
(a quote I recently came across), are sentiments I’ve heard
before The Bruin. What’s different now is that I’ve
taken those messages which I’ve always understood well enough
on a rational level and have begun to realize what they mean on an
emotional level.