Personal Narrative
When selecting electives for my freshman year, I ranked Imua Newsroom dead last. Yet, ironically, I had always been an avid reader of Imua. I looked forward to its quarterly homeroom deliveries, drawn to the sleek layouts and seeing my classmates’ names in the bylines. I devoured articles on book reviews and current events, reading each issue cover to cover—and then flipping it over to read it all again. Though I loved immersing myself in each issue, the thought of my classmates and teachers reading my own work felt daunting. However, when the class appeared on my schedule, I decided to approach it with an open mind.
My first assignment for Imua was a feature on three students who had started a small business crocheting bees. Just the thought of interviewing upperclassmen was intimidating, but my genuine curiosity about their work quickly drowned out any nerves. Uncovering the intricate details of their business made me feel part of something special, and the thought of sharing their story with the entire student body filled me with excitement.
When the issue finally came back from the printer, glossy and vibrant, I immediately flipped to my page and saw my name in the byline. After years of reading Imua, my own work was now part of it. In contrast to my previous doubts, I now wanted everyone to read my article and to see the vision of these students the way I had. Sharing such an inspiring student-led initiative with my community showed me how impactful journalism could be. I knew then that I wanted to keep highlighting student voices and sharing their stories through Imua.
As I step into my final year, it is especially meaningful to lead the staff entrusted with celebrating Imua’s 100th volume. I wanted to honor Imua’s legacy by exploring its archives, uncovering stories that capture how students who came before us engaged with their world. For the first issue, I spent hours combing through past editions, flipping through yellowed pages and faded ink. I found articles from World War II describing students’ routines with gas masks and air raid drills, editorials condemning U.S. involvement in Vietnam, and features on the integration of iPads into our classrooms. Mixed in were more playful pieces, like dating advice columns and April Fools’ issues dating back to the 1960s. Inspired by what I found, I compiled a timeline of Imua’s milestones, tracing its evolution from the first documented issue in 1923 to its transition to a magazine format in 2015. Writing this dedication solidified my love for journalism: it’s about preserving stories, connecting the past to the present, and ensuring that future generations can see where we’ve been.
However, my commitment to upholding student voice extended beyond the stories printed on Imua’s pages—I wanted to explore the stories behind the stories. I reached out to former advisers, like Mr. Charlie Proctor, who guided Imua from the 1960s through the 1980s, as well as alumni who have gone on to build distinguished careers in journalism. I invited many of them to our current newsroom, creating a casual and welcoming space to reflect on Imua’s legacy and the broader purpose of journalism. These interviews resulted in one of my favorite articles I’ve ever written, not just for the history it captured, but for the genuine conversations I shared with my interviewees. Upon our first meeting, Mr. Proctor gifted me a dense ball of string he had accumulated over decades of advising Imua, once used to bundle newspapers for delivery every other week. He called it “the tangled web of high school journalism,” a fitting metaphor for the obstacles that come with the craft.
​
His words became even more apparent when I faced one of my biggest challenges in the newsroom. As part of Imua’s timeline, I published a clipping from a 1973 parody newspaper of Ka Punahou created by the staff at the time. However, a photograph included in the paper offended a reader, resulting in further reflection on how to improve our journalistic integrity. I hadn’t anticipated the impact this clipping could have on today’s audience, which motivated me to approach the next issue with greater empathy—carefully reviewing each article to balance truth with ethical responsibility.
​
For example, I collaborated closely with a student on an article exploring the history of our school mascot, addressing the difficult legacy of the Red Raiders—a term with derogatory implications for Native Americans. Striking a balance between holding the school accountable and presenting its history in a thoughtful, constructive manner was challenging, but we felt it was essential to reflect on our past, especially in honor of Imua’s 100th volume. One key discussion centered on whether to include a historical photograph of a former student wearing the Native American headdress. Given past instances where similar images sparked controversy among readers, we carefully considered the implications. Ultimately, we decided to include the image, believing that journalism should serve as a means of reflection and open dialogue.
​
What began as my last choice has become the foundation of my greatest passion and purpose. Even after four years in the newsroom, I am still learning—the tangled web of journalism continues to teach me the importance of listening, adapting, and telling stories with care. From reading Imua in homeroom to now leading its production, I’ve grown alongside the publication. As I step into the next chapter of my life, I’m eager to embrace new opportunities with an open mind. I look forward to continuing my passion for journalism in college, writing for a student publication and amplifying the voices of my peers.