Being appointed EIC challenged my love for writing with my duties for the paper. Of course, I had been writing so much, I had mastered AP style and journalistic writing to the best of my ability at the time; however, as EIC, that meant I had to stop writing completely. As a news editor, we had so little interested in our section that we didn't have many reporters, so I developed myself as a writer a lot that volume. As a centerfold editor — don't let the title editor confused you — because we didn't edit at all. We purely wrote. We were just labeled editors because you had to have editing experience before coming into that role.

I remember someone told me something that I'll never forget. When I was appointed EIC, my former colleague told me, "This is your position, you have every right to use it to raise your own writing. Allow yourself to be selfish." He suggested I take articles that I wanted, and used my power to create the newspaper that I desired.

I really hated that. 

Yes. In a sense, I had the power and the platform to do so; however, that goes against the entire point of the newspaper and my role as EIC. Roar states in its editorial policy, "The Lion's Roar, founded in 1984, is the student newspaper of Newton South High School, acting as a public forum for student views and attitudes." By using it for selfish reason, setting myself up for success, Roar loses its state as a public forum and doesn't accurately represent the students.

I made it my mission to not write any non-senior-staff articles this volume. Unfortunately, I wrote two, and I really regret one of them. Tanning: A reckoning of fleeting youth, was written in a rush because we had an extra half and needed to fill it, but I regret not giving that half to a reporter or section editor. For the Israel-Palestine article, I first exhausted all the other staff members, hoping that someone would want to step up to the challenge, but nobody did, so Risha and I took it on. 

That responsibility is why I began writing for Fig City — I needed to get my writing fix in somehow — but I understood my role as an EIC was to be an editor. In Roar, I wasn't a writer anymore. I didn't want to pretend like I was.

Our process of building staff is pretty straightforward: very long application form, VERY long and intense interview, EVEN MORE INTENSE AND LONG deliberation, and finally, a phone call. Just kidding. As we began working on developing the application process for the V40 staff, we wanted to make sure that we were building an application process that people weren't afraid to try out. Partially because we only had five returning staff members and were desperate, but mostly because we remember when we were in their shoes and were absolutely terrified. This is a school newspaper. Yes, we take ourselves seriously, but as much as we wanted to get to know applicants, we wanted them to get to know us just as much.

I will say though, there were two elements of my embellished statement that is true. We were quite serious about our deliberation. I wouldn't go as far as to say psychoanalysis (but we did use that when deciding senior staff recently), but we were very specific about what we wanted from staff members. Of course, we wanted great people, but most of all, we wanted members who showed incredible potential and demonstrated excellence as reporters. 

Interestingly, it's a Roar tradition to do phone calls instead of emails/texts, to inform staff if they make or don't make the cut. Guess who has two thumbs and got stuck with doing the rejection phone calls.

I used to be wholly and entirely dedicated to my sport, volleyball, and was on track to play at a high level in college. In October 2020, when I was a freshman, I tore my ACL for the first time playing club volleyball. When I was told that I would be out of the game for over a year, I fell into a depressive episode. I joined Roar as a means to try and get out of it. It wasn't immediate, but I slowly started getting better, and began to realize that journalism was a genuine option as my new passion.

When I got surgery that December, I was working on Hyflex Learning Poses Challenges, my second article, and had to pause for a bit for the procedure. My section editor at the time was incredibly understanding and stressed that I take as much time as I need, which I not only appreciated, but remembered in the future when I had reporters and section editors with conflicts.

Indeed, we are dedicated student journalists, but our duties are to our own health and well-being. As a section editor, Centerfold editor, and EIC, there have been countless times where life simply gets in the way for both myself, and my reporters or editors.

We wanted to make it clear to our staff that we have their well-being in mind, and that we want them to prioritize that if necessary. Our one rule with that: please just tell us. We did not expect staff members and writers to tell us exactly what was going on, only that we were notified if they are unable to commit to their duties so that we could find ways to fill their roles.

Over the summer, one of our reporters, who had assigned themself two articles to write (reporters typically take one per issue), stopped texting her section editor back and essentially abandoned the articles without any notice. I knew the reporter somewhat personally, and, after the section editor (who was also their friend) had failed to reach them, I reached out to them myself. 

I was able to reach them, and after I told them my story of taking time off for mental and physical health, they revealed to me that they were undergoing some mental health struggles, but that they were still hoping to finish at least one of their articles. I agreed to them trying their best for that article, but prepared alternatives without telling them. The reporter was not able to finish their article, and so we had to use our separate preparations to fill the pages last-minute. 

Pulling the reporter from that article hit me hard. I had been in similar situations as her, but because I had been held to rigid expectations, I was able to complete my duties. That reporter never wrote for us again, they told me that it was out of shame, and it hurt a lot, but we had to make a decision that was the best for everyone. They needed the time to help themselves, and we needed the time to finish the paper.

Not long after, we temporarily lost one of our section editors due to a mental health break. The section he was a part of was also among the least autonomous of the paper, so it hit harder than we expected. To fill that spot, we as a senior staff adopted a couple of the roles that he would typically play, and took the rest of the work ourselves. It was tiring, but when the section editor returned, they seemed better. That's all that matters. 

This article and its response caught Risha and I in a very bad spot. Both of us were dealing with many things outside of Roar, and outside of our control, while all of the issues with the Israel-Palestine article were ramping up. Risha had even received threats of physical harm from people in her class because of the content of the article. Our tanks had run dry a long time before reaching that point.

And then when we were censored, it felt as if everything we had worked for was crashing to the ground. We knew we'd face criticism — we didn't know censorship was actually going to happen. Yet, we had prepared for it. We had spoken to the SPLC months before publish, and we had a strong case to either sue or take legal action.

Both Risha and I realized that regardless of what actions we'd try to take, we would lose. If we pressed charges, we would win back our article, but we would sacrifice the remaining tattered threads of our mental health and face even more criticism from the community. If we didn't, we would allow ourselves time to recover, but we would lose the article. 

We chose the latter. 

In not suing, we, Roar, implied that the well-being of its editors was a higher priority than the integrity of its coverage. It was incredibly difficult, and I still don't know how I feel about that decision, but I'm starting to realize the power in that decision.