A little over three years ago, I walked into Leavey 424 for the first time. I remember seeing the champagne-stained walls covered in Sharpie-d quotes, the worn lounge chair, and the ceiling with signed names. But what I remember most were the people sitting around the middle table.
Then, I had no idea that the Voice would make me a radically more resilient, considerate, and empathetic person than the girl from Salem, Oregon, who had just walked into the office for the first time. Or that some of the people sitting around that table would help me see how impactful community journalism can be and solidify my choice to become a local journalist after graduation.
I was just a second-semester freshman, still looking to find exactly where I belonged. As someone who had been the editor of her high school paper and took a gap year to work as a journalist, I thought that student journalism was for me. But, I had spent the fall joining and, quickly, quitting a different student news publication. I was in a mild identity crisis.
So I sent a cold email to then-features editor Franzi Wild (SFS ’25) and received the following reply: “As always, with every Voice section, we have no application and encourage you to come as you are!!” That was how, on a cold day in early March 2023, I found myself stepping into Leavey 424 for the first time. And I am, oh, so glad that the Voice welcomed me as I was.
In my hardest moments at the Voice, I found myself thinking back to those words Franzi wrote. While I might not have done so perfectly, I have made my best effort to channel that welcoming ethos of the Voice as editor. I have tried to uplift reporters during the editing process, telling them when I loved a lede, a quote, or a sentence. When a piece needed extra support, I made a point to sit down with the writer to walk them through the edits. I have also encouraged my writers to step outside their reporting comfort zones (hello, Voice sports interviews!). All while trying to ensure they never felt pressured to become someone they weren’t.
In so many ways, the Voice pushed me. I covered the start of D.C.’s pro-Palestine encampment after one hour of sleep on a couch, rethought how the Voice approached news coverage, had tough conversations with community members, struggled through the interpersonal problems that come from working with close friends, and more. Yet the Voice never asked me to be someone I wasn’t, just pushed me to be a more resourceful and thoughtful version of myself.
The profound lessons I have learned from the Voice are why I find saying goodbye so bittersweet. There is a reason that whenever I can bring up the Voice in conversation, I do; it has become an intrinsic part of who I am. And while there is great joy in seeing something that changed your life continue to flourish as you leave, there’s also a sadness to the fleeting nature of memory.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the quotes scrawled in Sharpie on the office walls—including my own. When I look at them, there’s a mixture of names that I recognize and ones that I don’t, dates from my tenure and some from long before I stepped foot on campus. I am struck by how many people the Voice welcomed as they were, shaped their college experience, and sent on their way.
Yet this is part of the magic of a place like the Voice, and college, as a whole.
It has the power to form who you are as a person, what you value, and who you care about. At the same time, there’s a beautiful impermanence to it all. Georgetown won’t remember you long after you leave the gates (except to ask for alumni donations). And the Voice won’t remember me—it won’t remember the things I’m proud of, but it also won’t remember the mistakes I made.
I’m beginning to think that’s the point of it all. This is a place to grow, meet new people, and learn from your mistakes; and in a few short years, it’ll forget you. But you won’t forget it.
I will long remember laughing until I cried in the early morning hours with managing editor Sydney Carroll (CAS ’27) and design editor Paige Benish (SFS ’28). I’ll keep close the lessons I learned in fighting to keep our printing budget with my predecessor, Connor Martin (CAS ’25). I’ll still write in Comic Sans nine-point font when I’m struggling with an essay or article (like this one), because former Voice Editor-in-Chief Nora Scully (SFS ’24) told me to. And my outlook on how journalism should be in service to our communities is forever shaped by long conversations with Franzi.
It is the people, those around us and ourselves, that make an organization, and then the organization makes us a little too. As I look back on my time in the Voice, I am sad to say goodbye, but so incredibly grateful that when I walked through the doors 37 months ago, it welcomed me as I was and shaped who I became.
I know in a few short years, I’ll be just another name on the office walls. When future Voice editors walk into Leavey 424, they’ll see dozens of tally marks in the corner labelled “Franzi and Eddy, Hours @ GW.” But they won’t know how I slept on the George Washington University sidewalk during our coverage of the pro-Palestine encampment with Franzi and then-Editor-in-Chief Graham Krewinghaus (CAS ’25). When they see “Eddy Binford-Ross F’25 and S’26” written on a ceiling tile, they won’t know about the tears and late nights, or the joys and laughter. They’ll just know that for one academic year some student named Eddy was editor of the Voice.
Yet as bittersweet as that is, I cannot wait to see what the Voice continues to become and the people that it continues to shape as I fade to just a name, dates, and quotes on a wall.
