Your 2026 EDITORS-IN-CHIEF SIGNING OFF
As I’m writing this, my time in journalism will conclude in four (4!!!) days. The weird part isn't initially obvious, it’s that I will be parting with some of myself. I joined this publication three years ago, and I’ve since changed in more ways than I can (or like to) list. I know I’ve outgrown the shoes of my younger self who was genuinely afraid of Google drive or, God forbid, asking for help with it. However, through every version of myself, this paper was my constant. No matter what, I could always say I had this.
Journalism has given me what might be the grandest gift of all: a passion, which I’m incredibly lucky fell into my lap at a young age. Before joining this program, I could write and write and write, but it never left the confines of my laptop as I was directionless with nobody who’d care to read. This program, though, meant I was writing to someone, which gave me a role to fulfill. It’s tricky to explain the satisfaction of turning a random tangent or grievance of mine into something tangible and then literally put it into the hands of another person with my name slapped right above it. To save you from an article with a quadruple-digit word count, I will just say that it’s changed my life for the better.
At risk of sounding biased, there is also no program on campus even remotely like ours. Beside having a distinctively impassioned and genuinely kind staff, we fulfill a singular role. We are, as Ms. Stapleton once put it, historians. Two years ago I spent paste up peeking through our box of archives - I read through a student’s disputes over racial tensions during the 1970s and a list of predictions for the future of U.S politics dated from the 1990s. I remember feeling incredibly trivial. It’s easy to get caught up in the stress of a time crunch and sweat over optimal VA or Oxford commas. And it’s not to say those things aren’t important, but at the end of the day, we are contributing to something so much bigger than all of us. In years to come, someone’s going to read what we wrote and we will provide them with the tools to understand something about this time, about who we are and who we speak for.
There are also a series of people I would be amiss to not thank. This year was uniquely demanding given Ms. Stapleton’s majority leave of absence, so Mr. Blanck and Ms. Battee, thank you for stepping in and, most of all, having faith in our judgement. And of course, a million thank yous to Ms. Stapleton for having our backs all these years and trusting us while you were gone tending to much bigger and cuter things. Max, you have been my journalism bestie since the day I joined and the loveliest one a girl could ask for - I am also more excited for you and the future exec board than you know. Liam, thank you for being an exceptional contemplation partner and co-EIC. I’m wildly proud of us and I can attribute a handful of my success this year to your backing and friendship.
My most encompassing and unfeigned thank you, however, is extended to our readers. Dwindling readership challenges every publication today and it’s been made very clear to me that The Samohi is no exception. But to anyone who has picked up one of our papers, engaged with it and allowed it to leave a mark on you (I mean that literally, as well, our ink stains are very unforgiving): you have given me the greatest gift of all. Your interest is what makes this work worthwhile and you give us a little more strength to keep producing this paper with spirit and integrity.
Before I conclude, I want to share a poignant journalism-related memory that will maybe evoke something in someone. Last summer, when I was doing a program with The New York Times, we were required to listen to this guest speaker: a young woman who covered conflicts in the Middle East, Afghanistan and Yemen who had come to speak about her experiences as a female war reporter. In the middle of her speech, I started tearing up. I felt so lame. I didn’t even want to come to this to begin with and this was definitely not the right place to start crying. But, as trite or whatever as this sounds, I was moved by her story. I was bewildered that she had the guts to risk her life for the sake of me knowing more things.
A lot of you might not care or see the relevance of that. But, I want to push that journalism takes courage, especially right now as the industry has succumbed to an all-time bleakness. It’s pretty disheartening how many people don’t recognize the effort that goes into mainstream reporting and willingly ignore news and the conversation around our world as a whole out of self-indulgence. You have the resources, so find the information that exists out there, see what speaks to you and make sense of it. Stay on your toes, turn on push notifications and don’t check out. And if you’re feeling really ballsy, subscribe to The Samohi.
Writing this letter has been, without a doubt, the most grueling piece I’ve ever done. This is also the latest I’ve ever started an article before a deadline, but I’ve decided it’s most noble I chalk that up to my fear of coming to terms with saying goodbye. There are a handful of other people I owe my gratitude to, insights to share and moments deserving of reflection. However, my article is already almost twice as long as the one next to it so I am cutting myself off and sending The Samohi forward with tremendous pride in what it’s become and all my love.
Always,
Claire Harrison
Editor-in-Chief