The strength of community journalism is its ongoing relationship with the community we serve. After spending months in listening to residents and candidates for mayor and city council, there comes a time for the newsroom to speak. I'm encouraging students to explore editorial writing with Durham Voice

Serving as both a professor of journalism and the managing editor of The Durham Voice places me at a unique intersection of responsibility. I teach students the craft of reporting – accuracy, fairness, and clarity – while also giving them the space to grow as thinkers, analysts, and emerging community voices. That balance is tested most when students write columns. Unlike straight news stories, columns carry personal conviction. They reflect the writer’s perception of events, informed by their lived experiences. They cannot function under censorship. Once you begin to mute an opinion, it ceases to be a column.

This came to the forefront with a recent piece written by Durham Voice contributor Abigail Miss. Titled “It’s time to clean up Durham politics,” the column is her thoughtful response to the most recent Durham elections. It followed months of reporting on local races, interviewing candidates, speaking with residents, and contextualizing the issues shaping the city. Her opinions did not appear out of thin air; they emerged from what she saw, heard, and covered.

Durham, after all, has not had a quiet election cycle. We’ve witnessed the strange and petty turns of “Pokegate” – a lighthearted name for a serious moment- when Council Member DeDreana Freeman poked fellow elected official Nida Allam during a contentious discussion. The incident amplified concerns about decorum and professionalism in local government and became a symbol of a broader question: What do residents deserve from those who lead them?

My student reporters can’ ignore a second controversy that shaped the election climate: Mayor Leonardo Williams’ use of “Y/N” as shorthand for “young n*****s” – a phrase he said he had heard used informally in conversations about youth violence. While he did not use the full slur publicly, the revelation that the shorthand had been used at all by a sitting mayor triggered understandable outrage. Communities already grappling with racial inequities heard the term as dehumanizing, a painful reminder of historical harm, and a signal that some of the people in power may not fully understand the impact of their language.

For student journalists covering the election, including Abigail Miss, this moment is not merely about terminology. It became a case study in how language used behind closed doors can expose deeper tensions about representation, respect, and leadership. It also raised questions about who gets labeled, who gets protected, and who is expected to “take” language that diminishes them. Columns allow students to process these complexities in a way news stories cannot.

Then came conversations involving the role of Council Member Mark-Anthony Middleton, whose actions and public positioning also helped shape the election’s outcome. Middleton has long been an influential figure in Durham politics – charismatic, vocal, and strategic. But his emerging alliances, public statements, and strong policy stances during the campaign season sharpened political divides. For some voters, he represented stability and experience; for others, he symbolized a political culture that felt increasingly combative. His endorsements and interventions influenced not only public opinion, but also how other candidates framed their platforms and responded to criticism. Whether one views his actions as decisive leadership or polarizing force, his imprint on the election was undeniable.

These moments – Pokegate, the Y/N shorthand controversy, and Middleton’s political maneuvers – formed the backdrop for Abigail’s column. They shaped her understanding of what “cleaning up Durham politics” might mean. Her writing emerged not from partisanship, but from witnessing how behavior, language, and power dynamics ripple outward in a community newsroom tasked with serving readers who are directly affected.

This is the pedagogical reality of teaching journalism: students are not insulated observers. They cover real people making real decisions with real consequences. Columns give them a space to synthesize what they’ve seen – to name tensions, ask questions, and challenge assumptions.

My obligation as editor is not to shield readers from those questions, nor to sanitize the student’s perspective to avoid discomfort. It is to ensure that the commentary is grounded, ethical, contextual, and fair. When a student’s opinion is informed by their reporting, as Abigail’s is, suppressing it would be a disservice not only to the writer but also to the community.

Opinion writing done well deepens public dialogue. It pushes us to confront issues we might prefer to ignore. It broadens the civic imagination. And in a city as dynamic and complicated as Durham, those conversations are necessary.

Students like Abigail watch all of this unfold not just as observers, but as reporters tasked with translating civic life for the community. That proximity shapes their understanding. When Abigail decided to write a column arguing that it is time to “clean up” Durham politics, she’s responding to more than campaign slogans. It’s a response to behavior, choices, and patterns she had directly encountered. Her column reflects her interpretation of the political landscape, grounded in journalism, filtered through her experience, and presented as her own.

This is where complexity enters.

A reported story is bound by neutrality and structure; it seeks to give the public a balanced account supported by verified facts. A column, however, is a step beyond reporting. It is the writer’s turn to tell readers what they make of those facts. It is subjective by design. It invites agreement, disagreement, critical thinking, and conversation.

Because of that, my role as editor shifts. I’m not there to agree or disagree with the argument. I’m there to ensure the piece is responsible, accurate in its references, fair in its characterizations, and transparent in its perspective. I cannot and should not dilute a student’s voice simply because their stance might be controversial. An opinion stripped of its edge is no opinion at all.

When an editor censors a column, several harms occur at once: the writer’s development stalls, the newsroom’s integrity fractures, and the public loses access to authentic perspectives. Opinion writing is an essential part of the journalistic ecosystem. It reveals how individuals interpret the world. It surfaces tensions we need to confront. It expands the conversation rather than narrowing it.

Abigail’s column did exactly that. It challenged readers. It pressed on issues – decorum, responsibility, civic trust – that matter to Durham. And it reflected the growth of a student journalist who has learned to navigate the line between reporting and interpretation.

Teaching journalism means teaching that distinction. It means showing students how to separate facts from conclusions, and how to responsibly bring their conclusions into the public square. It also means teaching them that their voices are meaningful but must be wielded with care.

Ultimately, columns are not end points. They are starting places. Invitations to reflect, to push back, to debate, to reconsider. In communities like Durham, where politics, identity, development, and equity are always in motion, we need young journalists who can speak with clarity and conviction.

My job is to help them do that, not stand in their way.