I recently detailed my journey with Respond to Racism for Oregon Humanities’ Beyond the Margins series with an essay titled “I Dream an Oregon.” Here’s an excerpt:
When I was in journalism school, they told me whoever controls the media, controls the narrative. I’m a narcissist, so that was right up my alley. I’ve long had the goal of writing something bigger than myself. I want to do good in the world in the process, but I’m not going to lie, I want any contribution I make to be talked about long after I’m gone.
I thought I was well on my way when, coming out of college in 2011, I got a job at the Skanner, a historically Black newspaper in Portland. I got to meet countless Black business owners, artists, politicians, educators, activists, etc., all doing great things in the community. I also got to use the platform to raise awareness of things like education policy and the disproportionate effect of homelessness on Black Oregonians.
It was a lowly reporter job, but I thought I was walking in the footsteps of my cousin Septima Poinsette Clark, the “Queen Mother of the Civil Rights Movement.” Growing up, her face on the cover of I Dream a World was one of the first things you would see in my house. My parents grew up in South Carolina during the civil rights era and constantly spoke of the importance of serving our community, always reminding me of the bar Septima set. At the Skanner, I thought I had my opportunity.
For all that was new and great about my first splash into journalism, what kept bringing me back to reality was the stat counter on the Skanner website. You think you’re doing all this important work, highlighting important people, businesses, and issues, but then you look at your view count and all of eight people have read your story. Do that over and over again, and it gets a bit demoralizing.
Perhaps that’s why the one story I wrote that did go viral still sticks with me so much. Like anyone in the midst of their one-hit wonder, I didn’t recognize the moment when I was in it.
Read the full essay here.