Chaos, control ... action!

When I first considered journalism as a profession, I remember thinking how much I wanted to be right in the middle of the action.

I pictured myself trekking through the wilds, a camera in my hands and a laptop in my pack, to some remote destination where some sort of conflict or unique event was going on -- some sort of happening that the world needs to know about.

Although I have come to realize this goal may be a "ways" down the road, and that a journalist must earn his or her way to that place -- I caught a glimpse of real hardship these last few weeks. I caught a glimpse of myself in the middle of the action. I caught a glimpse of my future self.

The afternoon of Sept. 23 was like any other. I was sitting at my desk, messing around with a story and a text came through. It was from our Assistant Editor Jared Jernagan.

He sent out a group message to the entire newsroom saying "there's a protest going on at DePauw, I don't know what it's about." Since I was free and the only one in the newsroom at that moment, I replied, "I'll check it out."

Heading over to DePauw's campus, I came upon the scene at the intersection of Hanna and Locust streets and noticed a few people shouting at passersby -- mostly students. After hearing what the group said, including slurs too gross and profane to repeat in this blog, I quickly realized that I was in the middle of something bigger than myself.

And despite the group's ridiculous insults and claims, I felt the impending reaction from the students and soon became fully aware that this was only going to get bigger.

Well -- it did.

There was almost too much going on to describe. Students were yelling. Professors were counseling. Music was roaring. Fists were pumping. Feelings were hurting. Emotions were unhinging. I found myself both metaphorically and literally in the middle of the action.

At one point, I wondered when it would end. At another, I thought this is becoming a circus with no light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Well, whatever the thought, I was conflicted inside.

I had to hide my journalistic gratitude for such an action-packed story while genuinely hurting people physically hashed out their differences. I was both happy and sad at the same time -- happy for myself to finally be in the middle of the "danger," yet sad because I was witnessing first-hand both the struggles these people were going through and the consequences of their behavior(s).

I do not aim to exploit or profit from such hardship, but while I was in the middle of the chaos and while I was being pushed around by students, police and faculty, I found myself satisfied that I am indeed heading the right direction -- the direction of that remote volcano eruption in Iceland; the direction of that military action on a distant no-man's-land battlefield in Ukraine; the direction of the migrant crisis in Europe; the peace-keeping efforts of the organization called OSCE in the Middle-East; the mudslide in China; the attacks in France; blood diamonds in Sierre Leone; elephant poaching in Kenya; air raids and terrorist states in Syria; relief efforts in Germany; flooding in South Carolina or drought in California -- basically, I'm pleased that I am heading in the direction of that conflict or unique event happening in some distant country that the world needs to know about.

In my opinion, there is no greater service to a community or to the world than bringing it the scoop, and the individual who goes to "places dangerous to come to" and to be the one who "sees behind walls, draws closer and finds each other," is truly experiencing the meaning of "Life."