OPINION | We are Journalists, but We are Human Too

By: Rania Sahisan & Krizia Soliza
ยท
Sat Oct 11 2025 07:04:45 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time)
OPINION | We are Journalists, but We are Human Too

We show up earlier than anyone else. We stay long after everyone has gone home. We stand in the heat, skip our meals, and set aside our own comfortโ€”all so we can capture a moment that may never come again. We do this because we believe stories matter. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ฑ๐—ผ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ถ๐˜€ ๐—ฏ๐—ฒ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐˜‚๐˜€๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐˜๐—ฟ๐˜‚๐˜๐—ต ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐˜๐—ผ ๐—ฏ๐—ฒ ๐˜€๐—ฒ๐—ฒ๐—ป.

And yet, in the midst of victories and celebrations, we are forgotten. Our voices are drowned out. Our efforts are invisible. People need the photos, the articles, the coverageโ€”but they rarely see the people behind them.

Too often, photojournalists are treated like slavesโ€”personal photographers expected to follow orders, take endless shots, and provide nothing more than โ€œ๐˜ข๐˜ฆ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜คโ€ pictures for social media. Our photos, meant to tell stories, are reduced to decoration. Our craft, built on truth, is diminished into content. And it sucks.

We are not tools for your posts or props for your feeds. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ป๐—ผ๐˜ ๐—บ๐—ฎ๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ถ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐˜†๐—ผ๐˜‚ ๐—ฐ๐—ฎ๐—ป ๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ฑ. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ฝ๐—ฒ๐—ผ๐—ฝ๐—น๐—ฒ. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ด๐—ฒ๐˜ ๐˜๐—ถ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ด๐—ฒ๐˜ ๐—ต๐˜‚๐—ป๐—ด๐—ฟ๐˜†. ๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ฏ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ๐—ฎ๐—ธ ๐—ฑ๐—ผ๐˜„๐—ป, ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ผ. But we keep going, because itโ€™s our calling to tell stories from every angleโ€”even the ones no one else dares to look at.

We donโ€™t ask for medals or parades, because we know they will never come. The truth is, the only people who will ever truly understand us are fellow journalists. They know what it means to stand in the heat with an empty stomach, to stay long after everyone else has gone home, to lose sleep over stories that may never even be noticed.

And maybe thatโ€™s enough. Because when the world forgets us, we remember each other. When no one else stands by us, we stand togetherโ€”awkwardly by the bleachers, silently, under the sun, carrying cameras and notebooks heavier than our own tired bodies.

๐—ช๐—ฒ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ท๐—ผ๐˜‚๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฎ๐—น๐—ถ๐˜€๐˜๐˜€, ๐—ฏ๐˜‚๐˜ ๐˜„๐—ฒ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—ต๐˜‚๐—บ๐—ฎ๐—ป ๐˜๐—ผ๐—ผ. And when the world turns its eyes away, we will keep telling its stories; we speak the truth, and we push oppression despite the suffocation society puts us under, because we know that somewhere out there, another journalist is doing the same for us.

To my fellow journalists, congratulations. We deserve it. But we deserve better.

We hear you. We tell your stories. All we ask is that you hear us too.

โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”

โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”โ€”

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