THEY say leadership ends when the title is gone—but for me, leaving the newsroom is not the end of the mission. If anything, stepping away from the Editor-in-Chief’s desk has only clarified what I’ve always known: that student journalism was never just a role, it was a responsibility.

     Being an EIC not only sharpened my writing, but it also tested my beliefs. It pushed my patience. It made me stretch myself beyond the easy or safe. Every decision, from signing off on a headline to putting an angle to a story, challenged me beyond the limits of critical thinking and into something scarier: moral clarity. 

     I have learned that silence is a choice. That neutrality in the presence of injustice is complicity. And that the byline under our name not only bears authorship, but a noble responsibility.

     The last four years as a student journalist have not been easy. We were questioned, doubted, and even bullied—sometimes by the same individuals who should have stood by our right to freedom of speech. I've lost track of how many times we were instructed to "tone it down" or "take into consideration how this will reflect on the institution."

     But this is not a glossy brochure. This is journalism, and journalism, particularly in student publications, has to be courageous enough to ruffle feathers—even if it means becoming intimidated.

     We didn't just hear rumors—we were given testimonies. Testimonies of biases, mismanaged resources, and unrestrained power from sections of the administration. "Corruption" is a dire term, but what do we call it when there is avoidance of transparency, when there is unanswered questioning, and when systems shield themselves at the expense of the truth?

     We didn’t publish that story. Not because it wasn’t worth telling, but because the risks outweighed the reach, and that decision still haunts me.

     But silence doesn’t mean to surrender. Even when the ink doesn’t hit the page, the responsibility remains. Because accountability doesn’t start with a headline—it starts with the courage to confront what others refuse to name. If we are to discover a silver lining, it is this: the change seeds have already been sown. The #Fearless30th advocacy, with all of its boldness, was one step forward, a testimony that the mission continues, and that the tales untold today might yet find voice tomorrow. 

     And so we go on: asking, observing, remembering. Because someday, someone will write it. And when they do, I hope they’re braver than we had the chance to be.

     So, choose integrity—even when it costs you. Because silence may protect you, but it will never keep you honest. And even in the moments when your voice is needed most, neutrality becomes its own form of betrayal. Integrity is about making what's right more important than what's easy, and ‘what's true’ more important than ‘what's popular.’

     Challenge the system when it asks for quiet compliance instead of a courageous critique. When you're instructed to defend a sector at the expense of truth, or to think about image rather than effect, still, choose integrity. You don't require a title to act right; you just need the will to speak when silence is the expectation.

     Being liked is not always what happens when you choose integrity, but being real is what does. And that's more important.

     This is a call for a need for more voices that have substance—voices that don't shy away from challenging the status quo, and may break rules for positive change. We need individuals who opt for integrity when the room gets quiet—who write the book even when the book bites back.

     And if you ever question if it's worth it, keep this in mind: silence keeps the problem, but integrity begins the change.