The power of words

Claire Doll
Class of 2024

(10/2021) I’ve found that it is always the end of news reports that brings us the most fear, the most apprehension, the heart-racing anticipation of what tomorrow will bring. While headlines can be threatening, telling us in big bold words what the state of the world is, it’s those last few words printed in small black ink, or the final sentence spoken on air, that truly rings with us long after the news is told. Because of this, the profession of journalism is looked down upon. After all, watching the news takes a big toll on our soul, drowning us in fear and giving us a pessimistic view of the world. I’m sure we have all experienced this throughout the one-and-a-half years of COVID-19. How many times have you gone to bed, physically feeling the hope fade from your heart because the world as we know it will never be the same? How many times have you sat in front of a screen, any screen, your heart beating loudly as you watch the number of virus cases climb? And how many times, at the end of a news report, have you been told that everything would be okay? At the very least, have you ever been wished good luck?

"Good night, and good luck." Broadcast journalist Edward Murrow famously spoke these words at the end of his very own broadcasts throughout World War II and during the rise of Communism, a time characterized by uncertainty and fear. Although the content of Murrow’s reports was important, it was the way he delivered this news that really distinguished him as a truth-seeking journalist with the purpose to not only educate the public, but to also give a semblance of hope. Murrow spoke with words of courage, words that would be heard by all Americans on TV, words that informed many and fueled perseverance.

It is a dream of mine to be a writer that can convey such hope and impact so many people simply with the use of my words.

When I was younger, I begged my parents to buy me a Kit Kittredge doll for Christmas. She was an American Girl Doll, belonging to a brand of dolls where each one had their own historical significance, their own story of adventure and courage. The blonde ten-year-old would venture into her town and reveal truths about the Great Depression, working with friends and even solving crimes just to accomplish her dream of being published in a real newspaper. As a ten-year-old myself, I strived to be Kit Kittredge. Although I didn’t have blonde hair or freckles like my doll did, I began writing, journaling the events that took place in my life, creating characters that evolved into stories, finding the beauty a single word can hold and embedding it into a poem. As I grew up, the idea of creative writing appealed to me more than journalistic writing; I loved how musical and lyrical sentences could sound, and I enjoyed nothing more than describing a scene with colorful imagery and telling things exactly how I saw them. Flash forward to college: I am an education major with the hope of teaching young students how to read and write, and I am a creative writing minor with a passion for storytelling and language. To put it simply, I love using words, love how much meaning they can convey, love how they shape the world just by existing.

I used to think only creative writing was beautiful because it used words to help me escape. I can recall countless times in my life where I’d sit down, crack open a journal, and write to my heart’s content. Creating characters, inventing plots, and stringing together image-filled sentences reminded me that reality was temporary by choice, and that writing fiction is a mode of travel. I grew away from Kit Kittredge’s method of writing, of reporting news and jotting it down on a notepad. After all, how could journalism be beautiful? The media today uses words to convey misinformation and evoke fear. I had looked down upon it for so long, until I was given the opportunity to research Edward Murrow. Only then did I discover a particular use of words, one different from writing creatively, one that shows how journalism is meant to not only provide facts, but to also steer readers towards a common truth.

Journalism is beautiful because, when done well, it is truth-seeking. Perhaps there is no imagery, no lyrical rhymes embedded in sentences, but as Plato once said, "Truth is the beginning of every good to the gods, and of every good to man." The sole purpose of journalism is to not only report facts to the public, but also to convey hope and perseverance in a time where the truth is desperately needed. Edward Murrow knew this well. He inspired the initial purpose of journalism and gave his broadcasts to the people, acting as a light of truth in a time shadowed by darkness, revealing the ultimate good in a world of bad; this in itself is what makes journalism beautiful.

We are simply unaware of the power of words. I did not recognize this until hearing the resonance that the sentence "good night, and good luck" had left behind when spoken by Murrow. In times of terror and fear, writers and broadcasters feel that their only purpose is to inform the public. While this may be true, the profession of journalism is one that uses words to communicate with thousands and thousands of people, words that spark panic and take from hope. Murrow, however, used his words to offer comfort. Perhaps he couldn’t end World War II or protect from Communism, but he cultivated an atmosphere of perseverance. His words encouraged others, and this reveals how language holds the power to unite one another and inspire the pursuit of the truth. And perhaps saying "good night, and good luck" at the end of his broadcasts was the most impactful sentence he could say, because at the end of the day, humans desire that sentiment of peace, of togetherness, and of knowing what tomorrow will bring.

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