It’s More Than a Story: The Power of Black Journalists

When I think about the role of the Black broadcast journalist, one word keeps coming back to me: progress. But progress doesn’t mean the struggle is over. The biggest issue facing Black journalists today is still bias and racism. It just looks different now. It’s not always loud or obvious, but it shows up in quiet ways, like who gets hired, whose stories matter and even how we are expected to present ourselves on air. That reality is frustrating, but it’s also the reason this work is very important.

After watching the videos, I do believe coverage of the Civil Rights Movement and the Kerner Commission created change, but not enough. What it really did was force attention. It made America look at the truth. And journalism has always had that kind of power, which is the power to make things visible and heard when they are often overlooked. The late Congressman John Lewis said, “Without the media, the Civil Rights movement would have been like a bird without its wings.” Even today, telling the truth is still one of the strongest tools we have.

Learning about Max Robinson honestly deeply inspired me. He wasn’t just talented; he was breaking barriers. He became the first Black local news anchor and later the first African American to co-anchor a national newscast. Wisdom Martin explained that, “Without Max Robinson, there’s no Wisdom Martin,” and another person called him “the Jackie Robinson of broadcasting.” That comparison says everything. He started reporting during the height of the Jim Crow era, when his face wasn’t even allowed on camera, only his voice. The moment his face was finally shown, he was fired. Hearing that hurt me, but it also made me grateful. Because he kept going anyway. His courage created space for African Americans like me to even dream about sitting behind an anchor desk one day.

Then there’s Carol Simpson, whose story felt just as powerful but in a different way. What stood out most to me was her ambition and determination. She became the first Black woman to moderate a presidential debate and the first Black female anchor in Chicago, which shows how excellent she truly was. She never took “NO” as an answer. But even with all that success, she still faced discrimination connected to race, gender and even age. The part that hurt me the most was hearing how people sometimes assumed she should be serving instead of leading. As a Black woman, that hit me personally. Instead of discouraging me, it motivates me to keep pushing forward.

When I picture my own future, I see myself on the front lines of journalism, telling real stories that matter to real communities with honesty, courage and compassion. More than anything, I want young Black girls to turn on the TV, see someone who looks like them and truly believe they belong there too, because representation isn’t just about being seen, it’s about opening doors for someone else to walk through, which is what a lot of my black ancestors did for me. I don’t want Black people to only make the news because of shootings or tragic moments, because our stories are so much bigger than pain. We deserve to be celebrated for our milestones, our joy, our strength and our unity. Even if we are still seen as the minority today, I believe in a future where our voices are fully valued, our presence is normalized and we can live together in real unity and hope.

For so long, Black journalists were expected to hide their natural hair just to look “professional,” which really meant looking acceptable to other people. Wearing wigs or constantly straightening our hair made many of us feel like we had to shrink ourselves to fit in. The CROWN Act protects the texture and natural styles of our hair and I truly love what that represents. It gives us the freedom to be authentic. To show up as our full selves. And to know that professionalism should never require us to erase who we are.

Looking at the journey from the Civil Rights era to now, the role of the Black broadcast journalist has clearly evolved. We went from fighting just to be seen to now fighting to be heard and respected. Pioneers like Max Robinson and Carol Simpson didn’t just report the news, they changed what was possible. Because of them, I get to dream bigger.

As I continue on this path, I carry their stories with me. Their strength reminds me that journalism is bigger than a career; it’s a purpose. A responsibility to tell the truth, stand in my identity and make space for the next generation of Black journalists who will come after me.

Like I always say, “V.O.I.C.E. Vulnerable enough to feel, O. observant enough to notice, I.insprited enough to act, and E. Empowered enough to make sure stories are never forgotten. That is the job of a true journalist…”

That’s the kind of difference I hope to make.