Some time ago, a professor told me not to waste my time with writing opinion pieces for The Berkeley Beacon. So here I am… writing this opinion piece… for The Berkeley Beacon.

Don’t get me wrong—this professor never said “all opinion pieces are bad,” but rather something akin to, “opinion pieces ruin the trustworthiness of news reporters.” If the public knows what politics and ethics you stand for, why should they trust the accuracy of your reporting on complex, multi-faceted subjects that you may disagree with? Or, even worse, if the public knows what politics and ethics you stand for, might this affect your candidacy for a hard news job at a hard news publication in the future? 

At the end of the day, staring out at a classroom of wide-eyed journalism students with pencils extending from their fingers like tentacles from a lie-detector machine, I could see why this professor found it wise to discourage blatant partisanship. If expressing your personal viewpoints publicly might just lead to your late night show being taken off air, why wouldn’t you attend the idealistic school of objectivity, skirting controversy and satisfying your journalistic cravings through polling data? It’s less messy, pays the bills (barely), and might lead to a stabler, more satisfying career.

I lost touch once this professor compared opinion writing to plainclothes news writing, stating that the latter, due to its association with thorough research and rigorous interviewing, stood as the more powerful format. To this I say, with the power vested in me by the Opinion Section of The Berkeley Beacon, “false.” And not only “false,” but “emphatically false and dangerous.” In fact, without the theoretical framework of argument, and of opinion authorship overall, daily journalism would be a painfully fruitless endeavor—a report of foregone happenings with little-to-no reason to engage with them. As it is, every human happening worth covering is reflected through a writer’s lens, and every one of those lenses is distinctly different.

As a film major hoping to pursue audio production, I didn’t add a minor in journalism because I thought it would be fun, and I certainly didn’t fall in love with journalism because I needed to. I did it as a trial-run, and the only reason I continue to do it today is because I wrote a stupid little article in the springtime about Boston’s lack of good coffee. Admittedly, I was intimidated by the journalists at this school—due to their absurd amount of talent—and joining The Beacon’s opinion section offered me an opening into a profession I knew nothing about, as well as a chance to prove that I could, in fact, distinguish my own viewpoints. I wasn’t grilling politicians, nor was I breaking open campus-wide conspiracies, but I was interviewing people in my community, and answering tiny pockets of questions in my head that I felt mattered on some level. 

After all, what is the news if not a collection of happenings that some editorial board decided should matter to us? 

Opinion writing is frustratingly beautiful; it’s a space for idiots and Supreme Court justices alike, but its plainly reactionary nature doesn’t diminish its own vitality. In this section, everybody is naked, grappling with the strange compulsion that they want—nay, need to say something or they’ll explode. Chances are, if you’re a student that feels strong enough about an issue to block off valuable time, set aside homework or social activity, and devote an entire argumentative essay to said issue, you aren’t just engaging in journalism, but important journalism. Or maybe, conversely, the issue doesn’t matter to you, not yet, and in collecting your thoughts on Disturbance #567 emerging from the White House today, you realize that something in your background might allow you to comment intelligently. Maybe you’re a film buff with strong negative thoughts about “Megalopolis,” or a musician with strong positive thoughts about the new Dijon album. Either way, you’re joining the likes of our finest—thinkers like James Baldwin, who used opinion and critique to comment on the issues he saw festering under “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” 

Isn’t that magical, Person Sitting Across From Me In Journalism Class?

Think of the countless times each day you’re taken in by some sort of stimuli, and jot down your feelings on each one. Then realize that you’re human, and to be human is to be inherently curious and inherently stubborn. If we remove this stubbornness from journalism, we’re left in a society with an underdeveloped capacity for openmindedness, and one where, in order to secure jobs as reporters, we must cut everything down the middle or face retaliation. 

I don’t buy this. I won’t buy this.

So when I sat in that classroom, and heard a figure of authority shut down the avenue that brought me to that same classroom, I felt sad, and I felt angry. But I didn’t feel scared. There will be no shortage of opinion writers, just as long as there isn’t a shortage of overactive brains. 

Call me foolishly optimistic, but then again, it’s just my opinion.