School journalism has long been a training ground for aspiring writers, a space where young minds sharpen their pens and keyboards to craft stories that matter. It demands research, patience, and the courage to seek and share the truth. Beyond the bylines and deadlines, it is also a powerful platform where unspoken thoughts finally find a voice—loud, clear, and ready for the world to hear.

But now, student writers face a silent and invisible battle: the growing assumption that their work isn’t truly theirs. In an era where artificial intelligence can generate essays, articles, and even poetry in seconds, human writers, especially young and passionate ones, are increasingly forced to prove their authenticity.

It became a recurring conversation among my classmates. Some openly admitted to relying on AI, producing flawless work in minutes while I agonized over every sentence. For a while, I felt like I had lost my gift. But no more. I refuse to let fear silence me. I will fight this artificial enemy, not with resentment, but with resolve. I will prove that my writing holds more value than anything AI can produce because I feel the words. I live the stories. 

And I know I'm not alone.

This quiet doubt isn't just mine—it's shared by countless student writers who pour themselves into their work, only to be met with suspicion.

Readers once appreciated the hours of research, the careful choice of words, and the emotional depth behind every sentence. But today, with AI tools like ChatGPT dominating conversations, admiration has curdled into suspicion. Strong writing is no longer just admired; it’s scrutinized. That doubt can be crushing for student journalists and aspiring authors. After sleepless nights refining drafts, battling writer’s block, and pouring themselves onto the page, many are met not with praise but with skepticism. "This sounds too good to be yours" is the message behind every raised eyebrow and second-guessing glance. It robs them of the recognition they deserve.

Because AI mimics these traits, well-written articles are often viewed with suspicion. This creates a pressure to intentionally make mistakes just to appear more "human." 

It is absurd that any writer should feel compelled to dilute their own brilliance just to be believed.

Meanwhile, students who rely on AI miss the essence of writing: the struggle, the revision, and the growth. Journalism is not just about the final product; it is about the process. It is in the interviews, the fact-checking, the frustration when a sentence doesn’t come together, and the triumph when it finally does. AI skips all of that. It doesn’t learn; it imitates.

What AI cannot do is feel the story. It doesn’t sit in a tense student council meeting, sensing the tension in the room. It cannot empathize with sources or hear the tremor in a classmate’s voice when they share something personal. It cannot question authority out of a sense of justice or adapt its storytelling with humor, sarcasm, or raw emotion. 

It cannot write from within the story.

School journalism thrives on the human perspective—lived experiences, emotional nuance, personal bias, and passion. When students write about tuition hikes, mental health, or campus corruption, they are not just reporting facts; they are writing from within the story itself.

So how do we reclaim our voice?

First, own your process. Keep drafts, notes, and outlines. Document the evolution from first idea to final piece. Record interviews with permission or capture behind-the-scenes moments to validate your work.

Second, write with unmistakable humanity. Let personality shine. AI can’t replicate your unique voice, humor, or quirks. Share personal reflections—readers connect to what machines can’t simulate.

Third, educate others on AI’s limits. Critics must understand that AI lacks context, conscience, and creativity. Advocate for fair assessments—engagement with your work, not flawed detectors.

Above all, keep writing. The best way to prove your worth is to produce undeniable, impactful work. Let your consistency speak for itself.

The rise of AI doesn’t have to mark the end of human journalism. Instead, it can be a challenge—a call to write better, dig deeper, and remind the world why human stories still matter. Campus journalists don’t just write; they witness. They amplify voices that are often ignored. They hold power accountable. And no machine can ever replace that.

To every student writer who has ever been doubted: Keep writing. Your words are more than just text on a screen. They are living proof that truth, passion, and humanity still matter.

And that is something no AI can replicate.

As George Orwell once said, “The best books… are those that tell you what you know already.” Your voice matters not because it’s new to the world, but because it is deeply, unmistakably yours. That truth—raw and human—is what no machine can manufacture and no reader can ignore.

So forget the machines. Forget the raised eyebrows. Just write. 

As the ancients carved into stone: 'Verba Volant, Scripta Manent.' (Spoken words fly away, written ones remain.) 

And you—not AI—will be the one remembered.

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