It is unfortunate — and concerning — that there are so many stories to tell about gun violence, and I am deeply saddened that we at the Daily Tar Heel are the next newsroom tasked with telling them.
I want to say that when I received the alert to shelter in place I sprung into action, a picture-perfect student journalist leaping to her feet to cover the news bouncing on her phone screen — “Police report an armed and dangerous person on or near campus.”
Instead, I called my sister, a sophomore and fellow Tar Heel, to make sure she was safe. With the confirmation that she was sheltering in place in her dorm, I tabled feelings of fear and uncertainty and began what would be more than three hours of breaking news coverage.
An editorial team of nearly 40 students tuned into emergency service scanners to stay abreast of the crisis unfolding beyond their barricaded doors. Some editors worked in locked libraries, lecture halls and campus basements. Others logged on from their off-campus homes. I and some of my colleagues locked the doors of our newsroom, just half a mile away from the laboratories where associate professor Zijie Yan was killed.
I peered from our second-story office to see swarms of police cars headed toward UNC’s campus — the largest police presence I’ve seen in Chapel Hill during my time here. We had only experienced scenes like this through the television, as they unfolded on other college campuses (this year alone, there have been 86 instances of gunfire on school grounds).
In an almost dystopian sequence, sirens blared, people ran and students shakily sent panicked texts to their loved ones.
These were the messages that inspired the cover of The Daily Tar Heel’s Wednesday edition. We got to work Tuesday morning, reaching out to friends and classmates to ask them to contribute text messages from Monday’s lockdown. We received an avalanche of screenshots from family, friends, group chats and more by midday. The brainchild of my dear friend and editor-in-chief Emmy Martin, this front page reads as a flustered stream-of-consciousness: “Are you safe? Where are you? Are you alone?” Not unlike the questions I had asked my sister on our phone call earlier.
The story our front cover told was one of a long, uncertain three hours. It was a story about confusion, fear, anger and concern. Students texted confused expletives to each other, “What the fuck is going on?” Family members sent painfully hopeful affirmations, assuring their loved ones that they were not alone in their panic. Others simply said, “I love you” — to friends, roommates, classmates.
In our most fearful moments, we were there for each other. I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon.
So, when typing up terrifying text message after terrifying text message to go on our front cover, I found myself wondering if this is what student journalism is meant to be.
I received my B.A. in journalism from UNC in May, and while I work toward my master’s degree, I know I belong in the news. I’m not alone; the fast-paced work environment and the opportunity to tell stories have led countless student journalists to the same conclusion.
In my career so far, I have reckoned with the fact that I will be asked to cover tragedies — like the loss of Zijie Yan and the pervasive gun violence that surrounds his death. While it is the role of the journalist to work through difficult situations like these, I am beginning to doubt whether or not that should be the role of the student journalist.








