Voices rising beyond campus

By Herman M. Lagon

The first thing I often notice when I meet young campus journalists is how they hold their notebooks, sketchpads, ipads, or phones. Some press them close like shields. Others clutch them lightly, as if the “pages” can lift them. A few flip them open even before the workshop begins, already searching for angles. That small scene always reminds me why student journalism matters. It is not about awards or bylines. It is about young people having an instinct for truth the moment we give them room to explore it. I felt that again as I prepared for the upcoming Gusting Journalism Seminar and Workshop at the University of San Agustin this November 29–30, 2025. The theme, “Beyond the Byline,” carries a challenge that feels real: teaching writing is easy; helping young people recognize they are guardians of truth is the harder, more important task.

Student journalism has always occupied an interesting space—half curiosity, half responsibility. School campuses are small enough that you can see the effects of decisions almost immediately. When a policy misfires, students feel it in their classrooms, workloads, safety, or even their wallets. That closeness makes campus journalism one of the most grounded forms of watchdog work. Bilinovich (2022) notes that student publications help young people understand local issues more sharply than national news ever could. I have seen this in Iloilo. Many of the students I have mentored asked uncomfortable questions long before adults did—about budget transparency, mental health, human rights, inclusivity, fairness, and learning spaces. Their stories moved entire communities toward empathy, or at least toward better conversations.

New platforms changed the tools but not the mission. Reels, mini-docs, TikTok explainers, and mobile reporting fill a student journalist’s day. They don’t dilute the craft—they open more doors. With young people turning to short videos for news (Reuters, 2023), campus journalists have become vital storytellers of their time. I have seen students use vertical videos to explain flooding, school gaps, or local environmental efforts—work that mirrors youth-driven storytelling spaces. They learn early that journalism is not tied to a medium. It is tied to intention.

But this digital world complicates things. Students often ask, “How do we stay fair without being neutral to lies?” or “How do we fact-check when everything changes daily?” Some even admit they hesitate to publish because they fear admin backlash or being mocked online as “too personal,” “too political,” or “too ideological.” This mirrors findings by Ong and Cabañes (2021) on digital self-censorship driven by online shaming and fatigue. Many are not afraid of the truth; they are frightened of the noise that comes with telling it. Yet once guided well, these same students produce work filled with quiet courage. I have seen hesitant writers grow into storytellers who dare to write about tuition, agri-fisheries, floods, corruption, discrimination, traffic blues, functional illiteracy, poverty, care for the common home, or community heroes—pieces that made even the most distracted schoolmates pause.

What moves me most is how journalism trains young people to pay attention. They learn to hear the tremor in a source’s voice, the silence of a hesitant classmate, or the tension inside a policy no one talks about. They begin to sift through noise just to find what is essential. I recall one student reporter who shared during reflection, “I cannot tell our campus story if I do not first understand what my classmates are scared to say.” That kind of humility is the heart of ethical journalism. It matters more than perfect grammar.

Collaboration only strengthens this. The 2019 joint editorial by five Manila school publications defending Maria Ressa remains a good reminder: youth voices are powerful when they move together. A group of young journalists in Western Visayas has followed this spirit, sharing drafts, verifying facts together, and co-writing stories on region-wide issues. Santos (2021) emphasizes that journalism survives because of shared verification and trust. I see this in many schools, where students cover stories beyond their campuses—transport strikes, barangay cleanups, coastal conservation projects, and the ongoing mental health concerns of post-pandemic learners. These may not be national scandals, but they are stories that shape everyday lives.

Multimedia storytelling has encouraged students to rethink how they tell truths. Some stories demand long-form narratives; others shine through photo essays or mobile documentaries. When a group of students filmed a fisherfolk community during monsoon season, their three-minute documentary sparked more immediate campus conversations than their print report. Both were valuable, but the video reached students who rarely read campus papers. Meeting audiences where they already are is not selling out; it is being effective.

New platforms can help, but they cannot substitute journalism’s timeless foundations—verification, fairness, context, accountability. Without those, creativity means little. Yenen and Köseoğlu (2021) point out that digital journalism still needs strong emotional and ethical roots. During the pandemic, many students said they longed for real newsrooms, where debates and sudden insights happen naturally. That longing says a lot: journalism thrives when people learn and discover together.

As Gusting 2025 approaches, I imagine the students who will fill the USA Auditorium—some nervous, some confident, some simply curious. They will bring stories that matter. Their work may not trend or make national headlines, but it can inspire better school policies, safer hallways, more attentive leaders, and more connected communities. That impact is never minor. It is the result of young people who refuse to look away.

What makes student journalism meaningful is not applause or online reach. It is the steady courage of students who still try—those who interview nervously, revise until midnight, listen deeply, and make space for truth when others avoid it. My hope this November is simple: that each young journalist realizes their work matters because they lived it, not because someone else said so. In a time thick with misinformation, disinformation, and malinformation, they remind us that light spreads fastest when the young hold it up.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.