Old editors in chief warned me about feeling deep sadness and
undergoing difficult withdrawal periods after leaving the Daily
Bruin.
Dealing with student government officers angry about an
editorial every other day, staying until 1 or 2 a.m., working on a
sensitive news story, or having to completely improvise a midterm I
had no time to study for all made the concept of missing The Bruin
very unrealistic.
By May, it was becoming increasingly difficult to come into the
office every day. I started humoring myself by bouncing rubber
balls (something my predecessor did), organizing the purchase of an
enormous stuffed duck from the UCLA Store, and occasionally
sleeping in front of Kerckhoff Hall, on the grass, under the
sunshine I had for so long denied myself.
But as I sit here writing this column in the middle of
Manhattan, I now understand what not being at The Bruin will feel
like. I’m receiving an undesirable sneak-peek at life after
the UCLA bubble.
The Bruin rewards you if you work hard, and sometimes you take
those rewards for granted.
As editor, I can’t believe some of the things the staff
did just because I asked them to. We introduced three new sections
to the paper this year, created a magazine, funded an office duck,
continued writing daily editorials, and perhaps most amazingly of
all, spent an entire weekend, morning until night, interviewing
student government candidates and writing endorsements. I literally
expected mutiny during those days.
The more I think of it, though, the more it makes sense. People
trust that you’re making the right decisions; they trust you
enough to put in extra work to make your ideas happen. And because
of that, you have to be thankful to your staff, not proud of
yourself. Nothing creates itself from nothing (sparing theological
debate, of course). Many hardcore staff members stressed out,
cried, broke down, did poorly in school, broke up with loved ones,
abandoned old friends and gave up their social lives to make The
Bruin happen this year.
They didn’t do it for one person ““ even if one
person came up with the idea ““ they did it for The Bruin, to
improve it, to help it better serve its readers.
How can you repay such hard work? Certainly not with money, as
all Bruin staff members know. The only way to repay them is with a
sincere “thanks.” Journalism is a thankless job, if no
one else thanks the staff, editors should be doing so
constantly.
I’m back at the bottom now. Everywhere I look in the New
York Times office, every one is somehow superior to me. I, again,
have tons of bosses. And I’m beginning to understand the
enormous difficulty of professional journalism. This makes me
remember the first day I walked into The Bruin, the editor in chief
was yelling, “Budget is now. Budget!”
I didn’t know what she was talking about, and I was the
only Viewpoint editor around. I desperately looked at the Viewpoint
editor’s computer searching for any saved financial documents
when she called for Viewpoint.
It is embarrassing and confusing not knowing what to do,
especially when everyone else does. New staff members are learning
the skill of journalism ““ yes, they will make mistakes and
aggravate you, but who else is willing to listen to you boss them
around? On weekends? In sunny Los Angeles?
Thank them, don’t berate them, because you, too, will
graduate and go back to the bottom. The Daily Bruin is tough, but
it’s child’s play compared to the professional world.
In both cases, though, it helps to be appreciated.
Serving as editor in chief was the best and worst time of my
UCLA college career. Not as bleak or ambiguous as Dickens’
London and Paris, but close to it.
I learned a lot about myself. What I can do, what I can’t
do. What I am, what I’m not. Who is important to me, who is
not. I also gained a more significant understanding of my
life’s “mission statement” ““ I
haven’t learned what it is exactly, but I have a better
understanding of what it’s not.
These “things” are valueless to anyone else.
They’re lost in the impenetrable isolation of my own
subjectivity, hinted at only in the way my interaction with others
has changed because of them.
If the beliefs of atheists and religious people are linked in
any way, it’s in the core human desire ““ however much
some deny it as a defense mechanism against reality ““ to have
their little ripple of consciousness matter in the universe. To
have it matter eternally, so that the concepts of non-existence and
absolute irrelevance are defeated.
In a megalomanic, self-comforting way, The Bruin serves a
purpose like this ““ it’s a continuous limbo where all
who have suffered to keep it alive are remembered and
connected.
People who have moved on to become judges, Hollywood producers
and journalists keep in touch with The Bruin for this reason. The
Bruin connects us all ““ its masthead has been passed on from
one pair of hands to another, with trust, since 1919.
Editors who worked on the early editions of The Bruin have died.
But they continue to exist in a simple, “college paper”
““ the one UCLA students pick up every day, the one that has
seen two world wars, genocide, the sex revolution, a massive civil
rights movement, the rise and fall of communism, the explosion of
the first nuclear bomb, the first man on the moon, the overthrow of
countless regimes and Sept. 11, 2001.
Your job is important. At times, you may think you’re
uncool because you’re the only one who knows Shelly Taylor,
Steve Sanns, Max Benavidez, Jerry Mann, Mike Foraker, Dria Fearn,
more than three people on USAC, or the student regent.
In the end, though, putting up with and learning from such
obscure and seemingly meaningless people will matter. Trust me.
I have fallen in love with The Bruin, but my time to move on has
come. I can leave in comfort now, knowing that even if I remain a
nobody in Manhattan, somewhere the “DAILY BRUIN”
masthead will continue existing as it has through the years, and I,
as all of you, will be part of it.
Ortega was the 2002-2003 editor in chief. He will be at the
New York Times this summer, but wishes next year’s staff an
excellent experience.