By Jacob Clavijo | Editor-in-Chief
Jacob Clavijo, Editor-in-Chief of The Critograph
I was always known as the shy and quiet kid growing up. Throughout my childhood, adults always asked me to speak up or stop mumbling, and it was nearly impossible for me to make eye contact while talking. In crowded spaces, I would get super anxious, fearing that everyone around me was judging my appearance or my actions. As a result, I spent most of my childhood and early teenage years avoiding meeting new people and going to places with large crowds.
But despite my timidity, I always maintained an interest in speaking with others and hearing about their lives. It wasn’t until I graduated high school that I began to break out of my shell and start talking to people who weren’t friends or family.
At the time, I wanted to be a photojournalist, and I was fascinated by TIME Magazine and National Geographic articles that I would come across. These journalists would travel all over the world, meet new people, and share their stories. So, I began taking a similar approach in my hometown. I would roam the streets of Downtown Dallas and take photos, mainly of the architecture, but from time to time, I would gather up the courage to ask a stranger if I could take their portrait. To my surprise, most people were willing to let me photograph them, and more often than not, we would talk for about 10 minutes or so, and they would share their life story.
It was moments like these, paired with my lifelong desire to hear others’ stories, that made me realize not only that I wanted to pursue journalism but also that I had always been a journalist.
For the last 15 months, I have dedicated myself to covering my community here in Lynchburg, and the stories are often overlooked or misrepresented. I’ve covered campus events, local protests, city council meetings, and everything in between. I’ve interviewed over 100 sources and spoken with people from all walks of life. I’ve put in so many hours into writing stories and making sure that I am capturing both sides of every story–and I’ve loved every single minute of it.
Now, as I near the end of my time at the University of Lynchburg and look to the next chapter in my young career as a journalist, I must encourage others to do the same. There’s value in the campus paper, whether it be to help promote your organizational event, express your opinions on various topics, or to advocate for change.
There’s no doubt that we are standing at a crossroads in the history of our institution.
One day, we have a large financial deficit, and the next we have it all figured out.
One day, we value the strength of our educational programs, and the next, we are closing them.
One day, we appreciate our educators who work tirelessly to ensure students receive the best education, and the next, they are asked to take a buyout.
The more I listen to what faculty, staff, and students have to say on the matter, the more I feel the looming angst towards the school’s administration. And I know that I’m not alone; I know that you all reading this feel it too.
If you’ve ever wondered why The Critograph hasn’t published a genuine article that investigates the program cuts from last year (and believe me, we’ve tried), it’s because people are afraid to speak up.
Understandably, faculty would rather stay on the good side of the administration and not risk losing their jobs, and those who have left the institution would rather just move on from the hurt they have endured.
President Alison has said on multiple occasions that students should focus on their education and leave worrying about the school’s future to the administration, but that’s like a captain telling a sailor to let them worry about the sinking boat they are both on.
I’m not saying that speaking up will bring back programs or change the school for the better overnight, but like history has shown us, there’s strength in numbers.
The main point I am trying to communicate is that we need more people to speak up and share their perspectives. It can be difficult, and as someone who has had to sit through uncomfortable conversations as a journalist, I understand the hesitation to speak up and ask the hard questions.
Stepping into the role of Editor-in-Chief has been a turning point. It required decisions, leadership, and a public voice I once believed I did not have. Yet each deadline, each editorial meeting, and each published issue proved that the quiet kid who avoided attention could guide an entire newsroom with purpose. My path from silence to stewardship of a paper is a reminder that confidence does not erase one’s past; it transforms it.
Join us in the Critograph newsroom in Schewel 370!
