Emerald swings for the fences

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Emerald Wright-Collie climbs the stairs to the enter the auditorium at Allegheny College’s commencement ceremony on May 14, 2016 in the Wise Center. Wright-Collie graduated with a bachelor of arts in communication arts and a minor in journalism in the public interest. Photo by Cheryl Hatch/c. 2016

Outside the Box, by Cheryl Hatch, Copyright 2016

Each semester in our news writing class, I give students an assignment to interview a professional journalist. Below are the opening words of the assignment.

Have fun and aim high. This assignment is for you. It gives you an opportunity to network and learn from a professional journalist. Be bold. Prepare well. Ask thoughtful, intimate questions.

 I then ask a few students which journalist they’d like to interview. In my first semester at Allegheny, a woman in the back of the class said Anderson Cooper. A few students laughed, snickered possibly. I asked the student why she chose Cooper. She’d followed his coverage of Katrina. She admired him and his work.

She sent emails and called his office. She wrote a letter that I passed from a friend to a friend to a relative of Cooper’s. She worked all semester to score the interview. She didn’t get it. She did get the assignment and made the most of it. As a professor, I value and encourage that kind of failure.

That’s Emerald. She swings for the fences.

During our “Story Next Door” journalism conference in 2014, Emerald studied the work of the speakers and made sure to meet each of them. She didn’t know about f-stops and exposure, but she knew she wanted to learn more about photojournalism. She sought out Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Michael Williamson of The Washington Post and spent an afternoon with him on the Ernst Trail, learning to see light and moments.

At our conference this year, Emerald took a point-and-shoot camera to Erie and documented the arrival of a refugee family from Somalia and the neighbors who welcomed them to their new home. Her photo of 8-year-old Adna Hirsi ran in the Erie Times-News.

When she was exploring media relations as a career path, she followed a lead and contacted an Allegheny alumnus who worked in marketing for the Miami Heat. She met with him over her summer break. When she wanted to learn more about sports reporting, Emerald contacted an Associated Press reporter who covers the Marlins and studied him as he covered a Major League game.

Emerald also swings and misses. She missed deadlines. She missed classes. She missed appointments.

We started meeting every Friday.

We talked about the internship she was completing at The Meadville Tribune. During these conversations, I realized Emerald was up against some tough odds and demanding circumstances. Allegheny can be a challenging environment inside the classroom and outside it. Each year, nearly every semester, Emerald had an obstacle to surmount outside her college life—outside her control. She persevered.

There were a few semesters when she wasn’t sure she would return. And she always returned.

People think I’m stupid, Emerald said, during one of our conversations. They act surprised when I say something intelligent.

I assured her that I’d had the same challenges in my career. I told her I consider it a tactical advantage when people misjudge and underestimate me. I carry Eleanor Roosevelt’s quote in my head for just such occasions: “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

As an educator now, I follow the example of professors who made a difference in my college career. Dr. Rob, who died earlier this year. When I was knocked off balance and off course my sophomore year, his words and strong presence helped me right myself.

And Jim, my adviser and photojournalism professor. I got a B+ on one of my first photojournalism assignments. I asked him what I had to do to get an A. He asked why I wanted an A. Because it’s there, I thought. Because an A is the best score, I said.

He told me my prints were too flat, not enough contrast. No true white or true black, not enough tonal range. I spent hours in the darkroom and went through boxes of photo paper on each assignment. By the end of the semester, I knew how to print. And I earned that A.

That’s one of the reasons I treasure Emerald. She never gave up—even when the going got tough. She pursued her education with grit and gusto.

I tell students that how they show up in the classroom is how they’ll show up in life.

Emerald shows up. She keeps showing up.

She reminds me a bit of me. I swing for the fences, too.

Emerald has smarts. No doubt about it. She also possesses the skills and qualities that I can’t teach, skills I deem valuable in a career and life. Emerald has moxie. She shows determination, resourcefulness and undaunted initiative. She can read a room and read people. And call b.s. from a mile away.

With her family in attendance, Emerald will graduate on Saturday with a degree in communication arts and a minor in journalism in the public interest. With her senior composition, she tied together all her interests: media studies, journalism, basketball, social justice. In her comp entitled “James the Savior: An Analysis of the Construction of a Cultural Myth in his Return to Cleveland,” she analyzed the messages that LeBron James embodies in photographs.

Emerald’s got game. And she’s got a job. After graduation, she’s moving to New York.

While she’s there, I bet she’ll score that interview with Anderson Cooper.

 

Note: I offer my congratulations to the 2016 Allegheny College students who’ll graduate Saturday. I want to especially acknowledge and thank Emerald, Christina, Meghan, Becca and Chloe; we all started at Allegheny together, and it has been my privilege to work with and learn from you. Congratulations to the parents, family members, friends, professors and staff who helped you cross the finish line, the stage and the threshold to your new lives and careers.

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Emerald Wright-Collie greets President Jim Mullen as she receives her diploma at Allegheny College’s commencement ceremony on May 14, 2016 in the Wise Center. Photo by Cheryl Hatch/c. 2016

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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Walking a fine line

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Outside the Box, a column by Cheryl Hatch/copyright 2016

Allegheny College is losing a treasure this week.

Director of Campus Communications Kathy Roos retires on April 29, 2016, after 19 years of service.

When I first met Kathy four years ago, I joked with her. You work for the dark side, I said. Public relations and journalism use the same skills for distinctly different objectives. Both tell stories. Sometimes we’re on the same page. Sometimes we’re not.

In my career as a professional journalist, I’ve encountered many public relations professionals who assume an adversarial or hostile approach to members of the media with whom they need to work. I can think of software giants who hire entire firms to craft their image and message, complete with stylists and wordsmiths who want to manage press conferences and photo opportunities. Politicians, the United States military, sports teams and colleges and universities all have public relations professionals on the payroll to help members of the media see things their way.

Kathy and I have both been around long enough that we realize that a working relationship can be built on respect and professionalism without thwarting our separate—and often disparate­—objectives.

In the four years I’ve had the privilege to work with Kathy at Allegheny, she’s been nothing but a pro—and unceasingly kind.

I often gauge people by the way they treat students, particularly student journalists at The Campus newspaper.

Kathy reads the student newspaper and has sent email messages complimenting the students on stories. I pass these messages to the students, where they serve as a kind of salve on the sting of remarks and rebukes they also receive.

This is an indication of a consummate communications pro. She can do her job while working with and respecting members of the media.

Last year, Sam Stephenson and Meghan Hayman won first place in the Society of Professional Journalists Region 1 Mark of Excellence Awards. This was a first for The Campus and a high achievement. The students earned the award for their coverage of the Kirk Nesset arrest.

Kathy wrote the press release and didn’t go into the details of the story that won the award. She highlighted the students’ accomplishment without citing the title of the news story, which would have brought renewed, potentially negative attention to the college.

In August 2013, Kathy responded to a request from community members and The Campus. A number of Meadville residents asked if the paper could include notices of campus events so they could attend. Kathy began compiling a weekly calendar of events at Allegheny College, which now fills a third of a news page in The Campus each week.

Two weeks ago, the student journalists hosted a surprise farewell party for Kathy in the newsroom, complete with balloons, cards and pizza. Christina Bryson, the editor-in-chief, offered her a prized Campus coffee mug, a gift of gratitude and respect.

Kathy, in turn, offered her congratulations to the students on their 2016 awards and commended them on their improved coverage.

I wrote part of this column Monday morning in the Market House Grille. I looked up to see a man tucked under a ball cap at a table next to the big frig. He was reading The Campus and I watched him study the page with the calendar of events.

Thank you, Kathy.

Since I arrived at Allegheny College, my goal has been to raise an awareness and understanding of journalism and its role on campus and in our community and democracy. I believe Kathy and I have been partners in this endeavor. We know and respect the limits of the partnership and honor the instances when we can collaborate.

Kathy attended every Ida Tarbell birthday party The Campus staff hosted. She wrote excellent releases for all the journalism in the public interest and Campus events, particularly our annual journalism conference and multimedia workshop. She wrote press releases that served faculty, staff and students from all parts of the Allegheny community.

Her good work brought local, regional and national media attention to the college.

Most mornings I look out my kitchen window and see Kathy and her husband of 42 years, Bob, walking to campus, often hand-in-hand. Bob, a professor of computer science, will retire, too.

On Monday morning, the smell of fresh-cut grass hung in the air as I backed my car out of the driveway. I saw Kathy and Bob walking down the brick road.

I stopped the car and jumped out. Not many more days, I called to Kathy.

She held up her right hand, showing five fingers.

I crashed their morning walk for a short distance, savoring a few moments of conversation.

I will miss Kathy Roos. The Campus journalists will miss her.

She walked the fine line between our two worlds with professionalism, dedication and respect. And she always walked that line with a gentle reverence for the integrity of words and importance of impeccable communication.

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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Vocational: I’ll wear that badge with honor.

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Outside the Box, a weekly column by Cheryl Hatch, copyright 2015

On more than one occasion since I arrived at Allegheny, a person has labeled my work, what I do, what I offer to the students and the community, vocational. Each time I hear that comment, I wince and bristle inside. It feels dismissive, disrespectful.

I am a journalist. After the most recent comment, I decided to do what journalists do. I decided to investigate. I interviewed professors at Allegheny and other academic institutions. I spoke with colleagues in journalism. If someone described your work as vocational, what would that mean to you? How would it make you feel?

It’s definitely a charged word, one professor said. It implies a vo-tech education. In high school, if you took vocational-technical classes, it meant you weren’t going to college. If someone calls your work vocational, it implies you’re not an intellectual.

Another professor voiced a similar opinion with one distinction. Particularly in a liberal arts college/tradition, if a professor refers to your work as vocational, it means that you and your work are not valued or respected. It implies that you are not a scholar, that you don’t do scholarly work. It doesn’t necessarily address your intellect.

These opinions reflected what I was feeling. Devalued, dismissed and disrespected. It implies I work with my hands not my head. I’m not a peer. I’m more like a plumber. I don’t belong.

I remember vocational classes in high school: auto repair, woodworking/shop class, typing, home economics. I would have loved to take a woodworking or auto repair class; at that time, girls weren’t allowed in those classes. I took typing and that skill has served me every day since I graduated high school.

On fall break, I was walking along the ocean with a dear friend, a graduate of Wellesley College. I told her about my experience at Allegheny and the vocational label some at the college attach to journalism.

Remember the origin of the word vocation, she said. It means a calling.

I beamed.

Exactly, I said. I often tell the students that I consider journalism a noble calling.

I went home and looked up the word. Vocation derives from Latin vocātiō, meaning a call, a summons. It first meant a call by God, particularly to a religious life in the Christian tradition. In the 20th century, it came to be associated with training, talents and a job. I’m not sure when the negative connotation attached to it.

I asked a journalist friend about the label of vocational and its blue-collar implications for our profession.

Of course it’s vocational, he said. We don’t think about journalism. We do journalism. When you teach journalism, you teach students to work for a story. If they fail, they learn to dust themselves off and get back to it. If that’s blue collar, I’ll wear that badge with honor. And yes, it is a noble calling. We sure don’t do it for the money. We serve our communities, our democracy and our world.

I come from a long line of blue-collar workers, of people who serve. Among our men, we have farmers, fishermen, an electrician, a tinsmith, a janitor, a state representative, soldiers and sailors. Among our women, we have farmers, a home economist, a nurse, teachers and a suffragist. And yes, there’s a woman reporter who preceded me by three generations, long before the vocation called me.

Journalists do important work. Teaching the next generation of journalists is important work.

Journalists are members of the Fourth Estate. They are watchdogs tasked with the duty of holding our governments and businesses accountable. Journalists risk their lives covering conflict abroad and corruption at home. They document history and tell the stories of a community, from the county fair and school board meetings to far-flung wars and areas of conflict and suffering. Journalists provide information that serves the public interest. A free press is a pillar of our democracy.

It takes smarts and guts to be a journalist—and to serve.

I followed in my great grandmother’s footsteps in becoming a journalist. I followed in my mother’s footsteps in becoming a teacher. I followed all my ancestors in a life of hard work and service.

Both my jobs are vocational. I’ll wear that badge with honor.

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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http://www.meadvilletribune.com/opinion/columns/outside-the-box-vocational-a-term-i-wear-like-a/article_602b069a-7ced-11e5-a8a6-9b43114d875a.html

 

The hardest part of leaving is letting go

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Outside the Box, a weekly column by Cheryl Hatch, copyright 2015

Long before 9/11 and the TSA, I would stand at the departure gate at the airport.

I’d watch my friend, family member or beloved, walk down the gangplank to the plane. I’d wave until he disappeared from sight. I’d shift to the giant windows and press my face against the glass, trying to find his face among the oval windows on the plane. I’d stand and wait until the plane backed out. I’d watch until it took off and disappeared from sight.

I didn’t want to leave.

As an Army BRAT, I moved with my family more than 20 times before I graduated from high school. It’s a pattern I continued as an adult in my work as a foreign correspondent. While I have a lot of experience with leaving, it’s never been easy for me.

In truth, we are all leaving from the moment we draw our first breath.

In The Campus newsroom a couple weeks ago, Amanda Spadaro said she had a moment. A graduating senior and co-editor-in-chief, she looked around the newsroom where she’d spent countless hours of her four years at Allegheny. She remembered the late nights, the laughter, the good times and the tough times. She looked at the students she’d shared so much with and those who would carry on in her absence next year. She realized she was leaving.

Spadaro left her hometown in Washington, Pennsylvania four years ago. On Saturday, she’ll graduate with a major in biology and a minor in English. She has no immediate plans after graduation, though she’s in the running for an internship at The Meadville Tribune.

Her career plans: “Pipe dream is to be the next Ida Tarbell, so. We’ll see how that goes. “

Elliott Bartels, The Campus Web manager, left his hometown in Cranberry Township, Pennsylvania, four years ago. Bartels will graduate with an ecology major and a graphic design minor. Immediately after graduation, Bartels will work in Charlotte, North Carolina for Wildlands Engineering, a bio/environmental engineering firm that specializes in water remediation and mitigation.

His career plans: “Working for a while as an environmental engineer/scientist to pay off loans and to afford a new project Jaguar, then maybe back to grad school to increase $$$ and get a degree in upper management/business.”

The Campus features editor Claire Teague left her hometown in Chatham, N.J. for Allegheny. Saturday she’ll graduate with an English major and economics minor. This summer she’ll be working for the Presbyterian Church of New Providence where she’ll be the assistant director to the youth program, working with hundreds of high school and middle school students.

Sam Stephenson, The Campus co-editor-in-chief, left his hometown in Portland, Oregon, four years ago. He’ll graduate with an English major with a focus in journalism and an economics minor. He’ll head home and teach summer tennis camps, work out and get ready for the Marine Corps Officer Candidate School.

His career plans: “Join the Marine Corps as an officer and stay in as long as my heart is content. Eventually though, I’d like to have a career in journalism or communications, but that might not start for a while!”

At Allegheny’s bicentennial commencement today, parents will watch their children cross the stage and collect a diploma. They’ll shout and wave and snap photos. They’ll also wonder where the time went. They can remember when their children left home for college. Now they’ll watch as they leave their college home for new adventures.

When my folks take me to the airport now, I linger by the curb. I hug my mom. I hug my dad. I don’t want to leave. My father insists on taking my luggage to the check-in counter. Usually, I’ll leave the cart and run back outside and stop my parents before they leave. One more hug. One more “I love you.”

The hardest thing about leaving is letting go.

http://www.meadvilletribune.com/opinion/columns/outside-the-box-the-hardest-thing-about-leaving-is-letting/article_86b87cd4-f511-11e4-adf0-270d6b767289.html

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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Reporters at The Campus learning to be respected not loved

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Outside the Box

a weekly column by Cheryl Hatch

copyright 2015

Each semester, I show the movie, All the President’s Men, in news writing class. It’s the story of two Washington Post reporters, Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward, who uncover illegal activities in the Nixon administration.

Their reporting led to the arrest of White House officials and the president’s resignation.

Their editor, Ben Bradlee, who died last year, stuck with the story and the reporters, despite threats and intimidation from powerful government officials.

Journalism is not a popularity contest. In pursuing facts, journalists frequently come under fire, literally and metaphorically. Organizations, governments and individuals often blame the messenger.

Or kill the messenger, as in the beheadings of journalists: the Wall Street Journal’s Daniel Pearl in 2002 to the recent murders of Japanese and American journalists by members of the self-declared Islamic State.

The students at The Campus at Allegheny College have already experienced some of the harassment, threats and scorn that professional journalists encounter.

In my two and half years at Allegheny, The Campus kiosks that display the newspapers have been vandalized multiple times. Newspapers, a kiosk and distribution racks have been stolen. A student spit on a student journalist walking to class in the aftermath of one unpopular, yet accurate story. After that story, students entered the newsroom and tossed it while a student journalist had 9-1-1 on speed dial. Once, the threats against a student journalist were so egregious that the students’ parents were going to remove the student from campus and I alerted campus security.

Last semester, the administration asked The Campus staff to remove a story from its website. The story and quotes were accurate. The editors cited journalistic integrity and the law in their refusal to remove the story. This semester, the staff received another takedown demand, from a student, along with threats of legal action.

In each instance, the students and I have the opportunity to learn from these situations. We review the Society of Professional Journalists Code of Ethics. We consult with the Student Press Law Center. The students respond with professionalism and thoughtfulness, often in the face of tough pressures and uncivil accusations and language.

As a matter of policy, the paper runs corrections when there are factual errors and the staff corrects the errors online, making note of the updated text. The student journalists also encourage dis to write a letter to the editor or an opinion piece to express their views.

Each challenge also offers a chance to raise awareness and educate people about the rights and responsibilities of the press and its journalists.

The Campus staff has been accused of slander. Slander is verbal defamation, so a print story cannot be slanderous. They’ve been accused of libel. Libel is the publication—in words, photos, pictures or symbols—of false statements of fact that harm another’s reputation, according to the Student Press Law Center. Stealing newspapers is considered prior restraint under the law. Forcing a journalist to take down a story without cause is also prior restraint and censorship.

The students understand the risks of standing on principle. They risk losing funding. They risk the scorn of their peers, professors and administrators. They risk threats and intimidation. As most journalists do during their careers.

On Saturday, I watched the movie Selma in Shafer Auditorium.

Martin Luther King, Jr. understood the power of a free press and the role it plays in our democracy. When President Lyndon Johnson wouldn’t enact voting rights legislation, King took action. In Selma.

In the film, he said he wanted the events to be on the front page of the newspaper when it hit the president’s desk each morning.

When the protesters began the march across Edward Mettus Bridge, reporters, photographers, broadcasters and TV cameras were waiting. The journalists documented the police brutality and unwarranted violence against people asserting their rights to peaceful protest and assembly.

In one scene, the actor portraying New York Times reporter Ray Reed calls in the details of the story from a phone booth, the tear gas dissipating in the air.

In the film, King and his aides note that the pictures were going around the world. That the NBC broadcast would reach 70 million homes.

With Selma and the war in Vietnam, journalists brought the news, the violence and the injustice into the living rooms and kitchens of Americans across the country. Confronted with the facts and images, citizens could no longer sit on the sidelines or feign ignorance. The press coverage of the Vietnam War and the civil rights movement galvanized Americans who took action and helped change the course of history.

As in All the Presidents Men and Selma, journalists shine a light in dark places. They bear witness. They record and report stories—at times at great risk.

There is a big difference between professional journalists and The Campus staff. At The Campus, the journalists are students. They are learning. They deserve the same rights of all students at Allegheny: the right to learn in a safe and civil environment.

Allegheny College has a new minor: journalism in the public interest. Public interest is a crucial component of the minor—and all journalism. The student journalists are learning and striving to practice journalism in the public interest.

They will make mistakes, as we all do. They realize they may lose funds, friends and favor in the course of their work. They have shown they will not sacrifice their self-respect nor will they compromise the paper’s integrity. They take great pride in their service to the campus and Meadville communities.

This year at Allegheny, we celebrate the college’s bicentennial and the 50th anniversary of the Voting Rights Act. On March 6-7, 2015, Allegheny hosts a journalism conference, “Honoring Ida: Celebrating the Legacies of Ida Tarbell and Ida B. Wells-Barnett.”

More than a century before Selma and Watergate, these women were also threatened and maligned in the course of their work. And their journalism—their pursuit and publication of the facts—also changed the course of history.

No woman on The Campus staff is yet the next Ida Tarbell or Ida B. Wells-Barnett. One day.

No man on the staff is yet the next Bob Woodward or Carl Bernstein. One day.

The late Ben Bradlee said it well.

“We’ve got a lot of jobs to do but one of them is not be loved. We don’t have to be loved. We have to be respected, I think.”

To learn more, about journalism ethics and law, visit: www.spj.org; www.splc.org

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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Happy to be embraced in return home from Ebola-stricken Liberia

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Outside the Box, by Cheryl Hatch, copyright 2015

When we arrive at the entrance gate to Barclay Training Center, I reach out my hand to the soldier who greets us.

Oh no. Don’t give me no Ebola, he says.

I’m in Monrovia, Liberia, and touching of any kind is not allowed. The usual friendly gestures of hugs and handshakes are strictly forbidden in this West African nation that has been in the grip of an Ebola outbreak for months.

I chose to spend my winter break working rather than resting. I turned in grades then flew to Texas to break the news to my parents that I’d be leaving for Liberia on December 29.

I traveled with writer Brian Castner. We’d met at the Combat Paper: Words Made Flesh conference at Allegheny, where he’d spoken last September. I’d been raised in the Army and Brian had served in the Air Force as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal officer in Iraq. Brian proposed that we cover the actions of the 101st Airborne, whose soldiers had fought insurgents in Iraq. The president had now tasked them with fighting a virus.

The virus is transmitted between humans by direct contact, according to the Centers for Disease Control. “When an infection occurs in humans, the virus can be spread to others through direct contact (through broken skin or mucous membranes in, for example, the eyes, nose, or mouth) with blood or body fluids (including but not limited to urine, saliva, sweat, feces, vomit, breast milk, and semen) of a person who is sick with Ebola.”

The Army’s mission was to build Ebola Treatment Units and train healthcare workers. They would have no contact with Ebola patients. In Monrovia, they were confined to a walled compound where they would wander to one gate, called Redemption Gate, and look at the ocean. Redemption references the beach slightly north of the soldiers’ view. In 1980, Samuel Doe claimed power in a coup and had the previous government’s ministers executed on the beach.

As one soldier gazed west to the horizon and a faraway home, he called the ocean view a slice of heaven.

It was a look-but-don’t-touch lifestyle.

Earlier that day, Brian and I had gone to West Point, which Brian described as a shantytown. It sits on a .15-square-mile peninsula with 80,000 residents, the majority children. In August, when Ebola was rampant, the government placed West Point under quarantine and enforced it with police and barbed wire.

As we walked the beach, our host kept reminding us to watch our step. Feces. Feces.

The U.S. soldiers haven’t been to West Point.

As I photographed, children swarmed around me. They pressed in close for a view of me and pressed into my camera’s viewfinder.

I’ve been in such situations many times. In the past, I would have worried about theft or assault or an ambush. This time I worried about sweat: the children who grabbed my sweaty arms with their sweaty hands. I became acutely aware of unconscious habits, such as rubbing my eyes as I wiped sweat from my brow.

Brian noted that Ebola was a new type of threat for him, too. With a bomb, he’d know his fate instantly: the bomb blew or it didn’t. With Ebola, it can take up to 21 days to manifest symptoms of the disease after exposure to the virus. It’s a silent bomb.

I’d notified the Student Health Center of my travel plans before I left and again when I returned. A fellow photojournalist warned me to be prepared for a frosty reception. Even close friends steer clear when you return, he told me.

Upon arrival in the U.S., I began my 21-day self-monitoring protocol. The women at the Pennsylvania Department of Health are on the ball. Someone calls me each morning to get my twice-daily temperature readings. She inquires if I have any symptoms. No fever. No symptoms.

I had decided I would continue the precautions and practices Brian and I had exercised in Liberia. No contact. Smiles and waves only. Or tapping elbows instead of hugs and high-fives.

My friend, a fellow journalist, who’d lived and worked in West Africa, met me at the airport. He is tall with a deep voice made for radio. Welcome home, he said, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, tucking me in close. I chafed, briefly. It was a shock to be embraced. It was also the best welcome home. I spent the weekend with my friends. We shared meals and they listened to my stories. I realized how blessed I am to have friends who will always embrace me.

When I returned to Allegheny, a student spotted me and came running across the Campus Center lobby. Professor Hatch. I didn’t have time to put up my arms. She ran right into me and wrapped me an exuberant hug.

When I heard you were in Africa, I was afraid you weren’t coming back. If you weren’t coming back, I wasn’t coming back.

She smiled and questions poured out of her. I smiled. Happy for the hug and the stream of questions.

She’s a journalist, all right.

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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Fare well to Kazi, who sees each person he encounters

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Outside the Box, a weekly column by Cheryl Hatch, copyright 2014

Not long after I arrived in Meadville, I was feeling worlds away from my family and friends. At a table outside the Pampered Palate, I noticed two men talking. I heard the lilt of Africa in their words. My heart sang.

Steve Onyeiwu and Kazi Joshua were sharing a meal and conversation when I popped in front of them.

Hello. I’m Cheryl Hatch. I’m new here. I’ll be teaching journalism at Allegheny College.

I barely stopped to take a breath in my enthusiasm to make new friends.

Where are you from?

At the college, I have since been chastised for asking this question; however, as a military brat, a journalist and a relentlessly curious traveler, I love to hear people’s stories of their origins and journeys.

I explained that I had lived and worked in Africa. Allegheny professors, Steve said he was from Nigeria; Kazi, Malawi.

As students finished their finals this week, Kazi spent his final days at Allegheny. He accepted the “newly created position of associate dean for intercultural affairs and chief diversity officer” at Whitman College in Walla Walla, Washington, according to a story in The Pioneer, the weekly student-run newspaper.

When I had lunch with Kazi recently, he told me he remembered well that day in the fall of 2012. He said I was having lunch with the editor of The Campus, our student newspaper. He already knew a bit about me from conversations at the college.

It turns out Kazi collects and cherishes stories, just as I do.

Kazi is easy to spot on campus with his high energy and bow tie. He calls me Professor Hatch and he addresses students with honorific titles and respect. Mr. Hailsham. Ms. Mauroni.

Students, faculty and staff call him Kazi.

His full given name is Kazipuralimba. I asked Kazi once what it meant.

“When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”

Indeed.

When the going got tough, I went to Kazi.

As a new faculty member and the adviser to The Campus, I welcomed his advice. Kazi is a wise man—with the instincts of a journalist.

I would pass Kazi’s former office on the third floor of the Campus Center, usually on my way to or from The Campus newsroom.

I’d wave and say hello. Often, Kazi would invite me to sit and talk. He’d turn his chair and lean in to listen as I shared a challenge or hurt. Stories of students who were troubled, harassed or struggling. Stories of my own troubles.

Kazi always made time for me, as he did for countless students and colleagues in his five years at Allegheny. Our talks were not always about challenges and setbacks. We talked about life, current events, matters of the heart and spirit.

I would leave Kazi’s office and presence feeling uplifted. I always felt heard.

Kazi is a skilled listener.

In meetings, at speeches, in the classroom, Kazi’s quiet presence was felt. He would sit in silence and listen, profoundly.

At the end of a discussion or near the end of a meeting, Kazi would summarize what he’d heard and then ask a thoughtful and thought-provoking question.

Like the best journalists, Kazi is not afraid to ask the tough questions.

I remember when Sheryl Stolberg, a reporter for The New York Times, spoke at Ford Chapel as part of Allegheny’s Year of Civil Rights in the fall of 2013. After she had fielded numerous questions, Kazi stood. As was his practice, Kazi had let the students have the floor first. I will go from memory now since I don’t have my notes with me.

Kazi asked her about the media’s coverage of President Barack Obama. He asked if she felt racism played a part in the way journalists reported on America’s first black president.

I believe many in the audience had that question on their minds, maybe on the tip of their tongues. No one had dared to stand and ask it. Kazi did.

I felt a deep respect for Kazi in that moment. To me, he demonstrates the qualities that are imperative for a journalist—and human being. He listens carefully. He risks asking the tough questions that may yield unpopular and hard answers. Or may encourage resolution and results.

Kazi is a gentle man, a man of faith. He spoke with passion in the classroom—and on occasion from the pulpit in Ford Chapel. A colleague called him a brother and soldier for social justice.

I consider Kazi my brother, a fellow journalist and storyteller.

In South Africa, there’s a Zulu greeting, sawubona, which translates as “I see you.”

Kazi sees me. Just as he sees each person he encounters.

He took the time to sit with me and listen. He asked about my mother and father many times as they passed through their health crises these past two years. He sat with me as I weathered my hurts. He asked about my health—and my heart.

These past weeks, Allegheny students, staff and faculty offered Kazi fond remembrances, celebrations and farewells. Whitman waits to embrace him.

I am happy Kazi has found a place where he will be cherished and respected. And I am sad to see him go.

Fare well, my dear friend. I see you. Thank you for seeing me.

 

Cheryl Hatch is a writer, photojournalist and visiting assistant professor of journalism in the public interest at Allegheny College.

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http://www.meadvilletribune.com/opinion/columns/fare-well-to-kazi-who-sees-each-person-he-encounters/article_703177d4-866e-11e4-bf45-77df09ba2756.html

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