Identity, Anger & Breaking Out of Student Journalism

I share something in common with Tamara – we have both studied History & Politics at Cambridge. Hailing from a Syrian, Armenian, Lebanese, and Palestinian background, Tamara recalls being immersed in the politics of the Middle East from a young age – a subject which she came to specialise in at university. Yet, as a Cambridge student, finding an outlet for her political views was far more difficult than she had anticipated, compelled to write about more weighty issues than could easily fit in the pages of a student newspaper. Tamara has a voice that compels. It is unsurprising that she is now working as a journalist for the Middle East Eye (MEE), after graduating from St Catherine’s College, Cambridge, in 2024. 

There is something about the way Tamara talks that makes you want to listen. She presents the MEE’s online series ‘Long Story Short’, which has amassed tens of thousands of views across platforms like Youtube, TikTok, and Instagram. Tamara distils complex political issues down to their simplest parts in video-form, making issues like Israel’s growing settler movement in southern Lebanon or Trumpian politics more digestible. Her work also offers historical deep dives into conflict in the Middle East. I invited Tamara to speak at the Gonville & Caius Media & Journalism Society (CMJS) in November to discuss the boundaries of student journalism, particularly in a digital age, and the relationship between identity, politics and writing.

The new frontier of journalism is digital and ever-changing, embodied by the rise of political reporting through formats like ‘Long Story Short’. People consume media at a quicker pace than ever before, and journalists are not afforded the time to tip-toe around politically sensitive subjects. Thus, while Tamara’s role includes the research and reporting of the traditional journalist, she also find advantage of in the online format: people can grasp the content “quickly without all the context” and “understand” the necessities. She firmly believes that it is the role of the journalist to “do the reading” beforehand and then present the news in a palatable way.

But this new media world strikes me as startlingly different from the one that Tamara, and many other student journalists alike, experience at places like Cambridge. As a student, Tamara thought the best way for her to ‘do politics’ was through journalism – and, she still does – but the rigidity of institutionalised Cambridge newspapers posed a challenge to this. Tamara, like many Cambridge students, debated at the Cambridge Union, but it left her disillusioned and “very pissed off”. Where the Union fell short, Tamara tried to patch the gap with student publications like The Cambridge Student and Varsity, the university’s oldest student newspaper. While these publications provide vital opportunities and training for budding journalists within Cambridge, Tamara always felt like something was missing. Yes, her grammar had improved, but she didn’t want to write about “fairy lights” or “Hinge” or student life. She wanted to write about world politics. She found a space for herself at The Cambridge Student, also known as ‘TCS’, where she began to cover international politics, particularly Israel’s war on Gaza. 

While Tamara initially felt TCS offered her more freedom, as it advertised pieces on broader world issues from student journalists, she found that finding a place to write about Palestine within the Cambridge media landscape became increasingly difficult after last year. Many of us will recall Hamas’ attacks on October 7 and the devastating Israeli offensive that followed, killing over 40,000 Palestinians and counting. In her words, “what was a frustrating discourse [on Palestine] became even harder”. She felt unable to truly express herself and undertake the necessary journalism without significant compromise. Words used were heavily scrutinised, points had to be tip-toed around. Why couldn’t she just write what she meant?

When a contentious political issue comes up, it is easier for editors to steer students away from the topic or suggest that it has nothing to do with their readership.  Tamara describes to the audience how she was driven to take to Substack, an American newsletter subscription service increasingly adopted by traditional media outlets like the BBC World Service, out of sheer frustration. The piece, bluntly titled “Why I am tired of Writing for University Newspapers”, describes how Tamara felt relegated to the “Cambridge sandbox of discussion” of “Chaucer and charity shops, ball gowns and botanical gardens […] where you can freely explore its most irrelevant minutiae and call it news”, as a British-Lebanese and partly Syrian-Palestinian writer tasked with writing about a conflict that is entirely personal. Tamara felt unheard, hemmed in “the subset of inquiry firmly within the status quo”. 

Tamara’s story speaks to a wider problem within the sphere of student journalism.   Undoubtedly, student publications do a commendable – and often – risky job in holding their institutions to account, and representing their audiences, all with limited resources and power. Just this year, students have broken incredible stories ranging from the rise – and fall – of pro-Palestine encampments, to breakthroughs on campus safety and the emergence of far-right politics on campus. These stories reveal the use and abuse of institutional power; they tell us about student resistance, and perhaps most importantly, of strength and unity. Student journalists are consistently at the forefront of some of the key issues that colour the modern world, as well as its media landscape. But what can we do where there are limits to the stories we can tell?

Tamara’s experiences certainly tell us that there are boundaries, whether explicit or not, as to what student journalists are empowered to speak about. While some of these limitations are practical – I know all-too-well of the predicaments faced by student journalists, from delayed FOI requests to balancing your degree and potential university backlash – others are cultural. Diversity in the UK journalism scene is already notoriously lacking, based on characteristics such as age, ethnicity, and class, and the same is true for student newsrooms. It is something that I’ve experienced on a personal level, as well as countless friends and peers. Indeed, a NCTJ report consolidates this sentiment, finding that journalism students in the UK were more likely to be white, privately educated, and from a higher socio-economic background than average. When publications do not reflect the diversity of their readers, it makes finding stories from diverse sources difficult, and challenges arise regarding the platforming of diverse perspectives – especially when it comes to politics.

There is certainly an economic aspect to the cautious approach of student journalists too, with student print media facing significant challenges in staying afloat due to post-COVID financial pressures. Over half of student publications feared – and still fear – the loss of lifeline funding from their universities. Perhaps this had led to a reluctance to approach controversial political topics, with editors afraid to rock what is an already precarious boat.

But this begs the question: aren’t student journalists there to break down boundaries rather than reproducing traditional structures? Publications feel a strict obligation to maintain neutrality, and while this is essential to accurate news reporting, sometimes this commitment can seem excessive. Tamara, in her Substack article, draws on the subjective notion of neutrality within student journalism, posing a challenge to traditional conceptions. She described the task of the student journalist as one where “you must sprint across a moat of suspicion and pull up the drawbridge behind you, lest your hard won credibility suffer”, resigning “yourself to the abstract tragedy that terms a ‘humanitarian crisis’ or ‘collateral damage’ insinuate without further investigation”. We see this too in the contemporary British media landscape, where 

this November, over 100 BBC staff and journalists signed a petition protesting their employer’s coverage of Israel, which they deemed too ‘favourable’, undermining the corporation’s own values of ‘fairness, accuracy, and impartiality’. A commitment to neutrality can sometimes mask real injustice, whether on campus or beyond.

Given that many Oxbridge students go onto write for some of the biggest media publications in the UK, with The Sutton Trust finding that 36% of significant news media figures in 2019 had graduated from either Oxford or Cambridge, student journalists here are the future of tomorrow’s media. But if we are afraid to – or dissuaded from – speaking the truth now, how will we call out injustice in the future?  

Perhaps the limitations that ‘neutrality’ posed for Tamara during her time as a student journalist is what led her to write for The Middle East Eye post-graduation, a publication with a distinct journalistic and political identity. She feels that The Middle East Eye hasn’t always been the most popular outlet due to this reason, but it is what gave her the freedom to investigate the issues she cared about. Traditional student journalism places less emphasis on writing rooted in identity and certain values, but it seems that sometimes this type of journalism certainly has a place in the real media landscape.

A similar sentiment was shared by Hardeep Matharu, the Founding Editor of Byline Times, an independent investigative news publication which prides itself on saying ‘what the papers don’t say’. Hardeep, also a Cambridge graduate,  stressed the reciprocity of our interaction with the media.  Not only do we shape the media – as it is a service to represent the public – but the media also shapes us. It contributes to the construction of our “cultural values”: the way we think, the things we prioritise. Based on Tamara’s recollections, and my own personal experiences, this is certainly true for the way student publications operate too. Perhaps student journalism should relax the reins of ‘neutrality’ and widen its scope. We should not shy away from issues of politics and identity, as student journalists also play a role in shaping the nature and culture of their educational institutions.

When it comes to how young journalists might convert their identity into their work, Tamara is bursting with wisdom. She remembers all too distinctly how the only way she could make sense of her anger at the injustice in the world was through writing. She took that feeling as a motivator, but not as the be-all and end-all of her work. She urges young writers to “take a step back” and assess the situation based on evidence and history. People will only listen if you can explain an issue calmly and clearly. Journalism must be distinguished from debate; there is no “gotcha moment”. Instead, it should be understood as a public service which aims to educate and encourage all kinds of conversation. Could this be the missing dimension within conversations surrounding student journalism?

When asked how she attempts to balance sensitivity and rigour in her reporting, she encourages journalists to comb through their own biases – something which we all, as humans, naturally develop. Trust must be cultivated between writer and reader, especially when it comes to contentious political issues. Tamara emphasises the importance of knowing your history, as no issue exists within a vacuum. Context is key. This lesson stands as particularly relevant to me at a time where the UK has ranked the lowest in terms of public trust in the media out of 28 countries. This is a relationship that publications like The Middle East Eye are trying to heal with projects like ‘Long Story Short’, digestible digital news that engages with the new world of information consumption.

The shift towards the online world also poses new challenges for the industry.  Media organisations across the world are grappling with their changing position in the digital world, finding ways to adapt news to the ‘attention economy’. In a time where 71% of adults in the UK rely on the internet for news, and the Daily Mail has amassed over 20 million followers on TikTok, it is clear that there has been an institutional shift towards digital journalism across the media industry. In fact, this shift seems essential to its survival.  How does one tackle the swathes of misinformation that litter our social media feeds? How can journalists rise above the noise? It is not an easy question, and certainly not one that Tamara or any young journalist can provide a simple solution too. Tamara stresses the need to remain evidence-based and cultivate trust amidst your audiences. Her commitment to integrity is surely a cause for optimism.

She also stresses some “golden rules” for student journalists interested in engaging and writing about global politics. Students must take a “human lens”, remembering the lived realities behind the statistics and grand politics. There is a fine balance to be struck between explaining news and context “without stuffing a history lesson down people’s throats”, which is particularly important for characterising identity in international politics and avoiding jargon. Further, she stresses the need for journalists to prioritise breaks away from the news, which can be troubling and intense at times. Verification, too, is important in this age of misinformation, as she notes that “the MEE have made mistakes” in the past.

Another thing that struck me about Tamara’s approach to political journalism is her focus on alternative perspectives. She told us how some of her most popular stories, including a piece for the New Arab investigating the link between debt and collapse in the Middle East, arose from finding fresh ways to tell an emerging story. Young journalists should examine which perspectives have gone unheard and follow those. Sometimes it might just lead you to the most interesting story.

Tamara’s case, to me, offers a fresh way of looking at the world of student journalism, and the media altogether. Identity and neutrality are not enemies; in fact, striking a symbiotic relationship between the two values can often strengthen the stories we tell. As the world changes around us in innumerable ways, so too must the way we tell stories about it.