Get a Lodha These Awkward Advocates

It’s sort of awkward being a college journalist.

Sure, as far as journalists go, we’re blessed. Most of the events we need to cover occur within a half-mile radius of our homes (Quadlings excluded), our subjects and sources eat meals in the same dining halls as we, and we don’t have to work with schmucks like Joe Morgan. Of course, for every 10 home games we cover, there’s a trip down the ever-dangerous Muller Hill Road, but professional journalists generally have much more trying lives than student-journalists do.

But it is indeed that closeness of access and the connection to our subjects that creates the discomfort we must deal with. When we step into the press box, we must shed our Harvard gear and adopt a stance of neutrality. It doesn’t matter if the volleyball team just clinched the Ivy League, if the hockey team just forced overtime in the Beanpot championship game, or if Clifton Dawson just broke the record for rushing yards in a career—you better keep your emotions in check. While this may not seem unique to college journalists—most sports reporters probably develop an affinity for the teams they cover (if it didn’t exist already)—the reigning-in of oneself is even more difficult when the team playing is representing the institution that you yourself are part of.

Moreover, this quest for professionalism is further hampered by our close interaction with the subjects that we cover. Like “real” journalists, we develop working relationships with the coaches and the athletes whom we interview. But our relationships are more tangled. Not only do we see these athletes on the court and in the field, but we also take classes with them, live in the same residential houses, and often attend many of the same social gatherings (read: keggers) as them. Even with a conflict-of-interest policy that attempts to eliminate bias from our coverage, we cannot help but feel a certain empathy for the student-athletes we are so connected to.

Despite the ease and comfort that our extraordinary access provides, perhaps it might seem to produce a net negative effect, coloring our coverage and complicating our personal interactions. Are college journalists incapable of unbiased, high-quality reporting? And when we see that athlete we just criticized in our last column, is there any way to avoid an awkward half-wave?

On the whole, I think that Crimson reporters do an excellent job of dodging these issues. We don’t cover the teams that our blockmates or best friends play for; we don’t wear crimson, black, and white in the press box; we usually avoid letting out a cheer when Harvard slams home the game-winner. (Usually.) And while it may be tough to report that our lab partner scored an own goal in last night’s loss, we bite the bullet and do it. (Usually.)

It is in fact at the other end of the relationship spectrum that we seem to struggle more: serving as partners of and advocates for the athletes and coaches that we cover.

Now, I am not suggesting that we take players’ gripes directly to press or that we should write columns drooling over the successes (and covering up the failures) of Harvard teams. However, it does seem to be our duty to use the power of the pen to the benefit of athletes when the situation demands it.

When the Athletic Department shuts down a major facility without informing coaches or players—or, for that matter, almost anyone on campus—college journalists can stress athletes’ grievances and shed a critical light on the poor administrative decision-making that took place.

When that same Athletic Department starts to cut off funding to junior varsity programs, essentially forcing those teams to switch to club status, we can bring those shady dealings to the attention of the college administration, working to mitigate what will be a difficult and costly transition.

When a coach is being unfairly held responsible for his team’s failures, when an athlete is deserving of a national award, or when a team is barred from participating in the playoffs after a perfect 10-0 season, reporters can step in and be advocates, supporting those subjects that they so often impartially cover or even criticize. Since we have unparalleled access to student-athletes and their problems, we can magnify their concerns in a way professionals cannot.

Such stories do not go against the principles of good reporting. The key to journalistic integrity is not neutrality itself; rather, it is highlighting the unbiased truth, especially when that information can help remedy injustices.

Many coaches and athletes seem to be wary of The Crimson, worried about the potential damage our reporters’ research could produce. But there’s no reason those same investigative skills can’t be put to their benefit as well.

Perhaps there’s a silver lining to the awkwardness after all.

—Staff writer Karan Lodha can be reached at karanlodha@post.harvard.edu.